The Atlas Six (The Atlas 1)

“You’re very quiet,” observed Tristan, turning to Callum, the blond South African who sat on his left. “No thoughts on any of this?”

“No pressing ones,” said Callum. He had a certain look to him; something very old Hollywood, belonging to the perpetual plague of Westernization that Reina had come to loathe rather than admire, but his voice was soothing, his mannerisms almost comforting. “And you sound quite suspicious.”

“My nature, I’m afraid,” said Tristan, rather unapologetically.

Parisa, Reina noted, was looking at her intently. It prompted her to a bit of a shudder, bristling at the slight sense of invasion, which in turn upset one of the nearby ferns.

“That’s odd,” said Libby, for whom the plant had been within sight. She frowned at it before turning back to Reina. “You’re… a naturalist, then, I take it?”

&n

bsp; Reina strongly disliked being questioned on the subject. “Yes.”

“Most medeian-level naturalists have more of a handle on their skill set,” observed Parisa, immediately revealing herself to be unpleasant. Not that that surprised Reina at all; most women who looked like Parisa had a lifetime of permission to behave however they liked. Normally she didn’t fault them for it, preferring only to stay out of their way, but this sort of shoved-together experience would obviously render avoidance impossible.

She was starting to wish she’d stayed home.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply—” Libby’s cheeks flushed. “I just, I suppose I expected, um—”

“I didn’t study naturalism,” Reina supplied bluntly. “I specialized in ancient magics. Classics.”

“Oh,” said Libby, with faint confusion, and Parisa’s eyes narrowed.

“What, like a historian?”

“Like one,” Reina echoed. Precisely one.

Parisa didn’t seem to care for her tone. “So you didn’t cultivate your own craft at all?”

“What is everyone’s specialty?” Nico interrupted, jumping in as Reina’s discomfort heightened. Probably best, as a silent request from her would have had Parisa locked in a chokehold by the very fern she unwisely suspected Reina of being unable to control.

Nico’s change in conversation seemed to be more in the interest of sparking conversation with Parisa than it had been defending Reina. “Yours, for example,” he suggested to Parisa, prompting her expression to stiffen.

“What’s yours?”

“Rhodes and I are both physicists. Well, physics of force, molecular structures, that sort of thing,” Nico said. “I’m better, of course—”

“Shut up,” muttered Libby.

“—and we have our respective preferred materials, but we can both manipulate physicalities. Motion, waves, elements,” he summarized, glancing expectantly at Parisa. “And you?”

“What about me?” Parisa retorted flippantly.

Nico faltered. “Well, I just thought—”

“I don’t see why it’s necessary that we share the details of our specialties,” Tristan cut in sourly. “We’re competing against each other, aren’t we?”

“But we still have to work together,” Libby argued, looking moderately aghast. “Do you really intend to keep your magic a secret for the next year?”

“Why not?” said Parisa, shrugging. “Anyone clever enough to figure it out probably deserves to, and as far as the intricacies—”

“But it’s not like we can perform as a group while knowing nothing about each other,” Nico attempted, looking as if his intent was to put the others at ease. Reina had a feeling he considered himself likeable enough to manage it, and it was possible he wasn’t wrong.

“Even if one of us is going to be eliminated eventually,” Nico said, “I don’t see how it helps to cripple all of us as a group.”

“You only say that because you already told us your specialty,” Callum murmured, half-smirking, which made Reina like him less.

“Well, I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” Nico said, flaring a little with irritation, which made her like him more. “So unless the rest of you have some sort of insecurity about whatever it is you can do—”