The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)(76)

“You blame this on the Society?” Broad claims, and as far as Reina considered feasible, unknowable ones.

“I blame the Society,” Nothazai clarified, “because if it is not its job to cause such atrocities, then why not undertake the effort to prevent them? Inevitably, it must stand to gain.”

Somewhere in the administrative offices, a small fern dying of thirst let out a thin, wailing scream.

“Someone always gains,” said Reina. “Just as someone always loses.”

Nothazai gave her a brisk look of disappointment.

“Yes, I imagine so. Good day, then,” he said, and slipped back into the museum’s flow of traffic, leaving Reina to look down at his card.

An odd thing, timing. She’d had a feeling, hadn’t she? That something would disrupt the peace she’d found within the Society the moment she stepped outside its walls. It was a narrow window to reach her without the Society’s wards; only a matter of hours remained before her return, which was much too specific to guess.

Could this, like the installment, have been another test?

The idea that anything would keep Reina from initiation into the Society was enough to reflexively curl her fingers, crumpling the card within them to a stiff, unwelcome ball.

The others could do with power what they wished. She tossed the card into the bin and strode out into the cold, ignoring the seedlings that sprouted up between cracks in the sidewalk. The argument itself, that she should turn on the Society in order to save the world, was ludicrous. Look at her talents, for instance. Wouldn’t the Forum be the first to have her sacrifice her autonomy, all to sustain a planet that had irresponsibly overpopulated itself? There was such a thing as asking too much, and she had known the demands of others all her life.

Depending who viewed it, Persephone had either been stolen or she had run from Demeter. Either way, she had made herself queen. The Forum, whatever they were, had misjudged Reina poorly for being free of principle, when in fact her principles were clear: she would not bleed out for nothing.

If this world felt it could take from Reina, so be it. She would gladly take from it.





VI: THOUGHT





LIBBY



LIBBY SLAMMED THE APARTMENT DOOR SHUT, turning to find Ezra waiting expectantly in the living room behind her.

The unfortunate thing about Manhattan apartments was the incredible lack of having any other space to be. That, and thin walls. Not being overheard by someone was probably never going to be an option so long as she lived in this city. She’d ruled out privacy the moment she signed the NYUMA student contract, which was a fact that moving in with her first year R.A. three years later had not improved. Funny that.

“I take it you were listening,” Libby said gruffly, and Ezra slid one hand in his front pocket, buying time before his response.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, Lib—”

She knew what was coming next. For one thing, it wasn’t as if she’d come home to the promise of sex and chocolates or whatever. The fight had begun the moment she walked in the door, and two days later, it still hadn’t been resolved. The fact that he needed her to beat the same dead horse was starting to feel inhumane to both of them (and the horse).

“I already told you,” she sighed, cutting him off, “I’m not going to tell you anything, Ezra. I can’t.”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear,” he replied, too sharply, and then he grimaced, recognizing the combative undertones in his own voice. “Look, I don’t want to fight about it again—”

“Then don’t.”

She paced away from the door, suddenly desperate for motion. He followed, ceaselessly orbiting her until she thought she might choke.

“I’m just worried about you, Libby.”

“Don’t be.” A softer tone would help, probably.

Not that she had one to spare.

“What am I supposed to do? You come back after six months without warning and you can’t even tell me where you’ve been. Now you have people knocking on the door upsetting you, and you’re trying to… to what? Hide them from me?”

“Yes. Because this has nothing to do with you,” said Libby, still brusque with impatience. “I’ve always known you didn’t trust me, Ezra, not fully, but this is getting out of hand—”

“This isn’t about trust, Libby. It’s about your safety.” This again. “If you’re in over your head somehow, or if you’ve gotten caught up in something—”

She tightened a fist. “So you think I’m stupid. Is that it?”

“Libby, don’t. You’re my girlfriend; you’re important to me. You, for better or worse, are my responsibility, and—”

“Ezra, listen to me carefully, because this is the last time I’ll say it.”

She took three steps to close the distance between them, slamming the book shut on the last argument she planned to have today.

“I am not,” Libby said flatly, “yours.”

She didn’t wait to see if he would argue. The look on his face suggested that whatever came next, she wasn’t going to enjoy it. She thought about packing a bag, summoning her things. She thought about screaming or crying or making demands; making a mess, in general.