The Atlas Six (The Atlas 1)

“No,” Atlas said. “You’re free to pursue whatever recreation you wish.”

She glanced up at him, suspicious. “Is that supposed to feel like freedom?”

“I know where you were, what you were doing.” He slid a pointed look at her. “You can’t use that much magic and expect me not to notice.”

“Is your surveillance a personal favor, or do you watch all of us equally?”

“Miss Kamali.” Atlas slowed to a halt, pausing before they reached the door to the garden. “Surely you don’t need me to tell you

the uniqueness of your gift. You will have observed several times by now, I’m sure, that your skills far exceed those of other telepaths.”

“I have observed it, yes.” She wasn’t Libby. She did not need to be informed of her talent. She was clever enough to sort it out for herself.

“But surely you must also understand that you are not the first to possess such ability.”

He left the remainder of his intentions unspoken.

“So I should consider you my equal?” she prompted him, half-daring him to argue.

“I had thought us kindred spirits. Or rather, I suppose I’d hoped it.” Atlas lingered in the doorframe, casting a glance over the greenery outside.

“Do you think me an enemy?” he asked her, directing the question outward.

“I think your presence much too reliable to be coincidence,” she replied, adding, “You pulled me out of Dalton’s head once before.”

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

She bristled. “But your presence in his thoughts is acceptable?”

“Miss Kamali, there is no point pretending we are not the same,” Atlas told her, finally conceding to arrive at his point. “We are both telepaths, talented ones. Rarities.” A pause. “What we do is not unlawful surveillance so much as unwilling access. I feel disruptions in thought, just as you must feel them yourself.”

Surely there was more to it. “And?”

“And,” he confirmed, “you are a frequent disruption.”

“Is that what being a Caretaker means?” she mused. “Quieting disruptions?”

Atlas faced her fully now, his effort at languor cast aside.

“I care for the Society,” he said. “Of which you are not currently a member.”

“Not until I conspire to kill someone,” Parisa said.

“Yes.” Atlas’ confirmation was stony, unflinching. “Not until then.”

She felt her mouth tighten, curiosity warring with her more mutinous impulses.

“You interfered with the outcome of Dalton’s class, didn’t you?” she asked. “You intervened to save him.”

“Dalton has also intervened,” Atlas pointed out. “It’s human nature.”

“Yes, but your intervention was purposeful, intentional. His was—”

“His was no less intentional.”

She thought of Atlas’ desperation and compared it to Dalton’s, measuring them against each other.

“Why Dalton?”