The Atlas Six (The Atlas 1)

“As far as we can surmise, Viviana would not have died of natural causes if not for her accident,” Dalton said, clarifying what had already been heavily implied. “Her death was not the result of any form of degeneration. What we do not know,” he emphasized, “is how long she would have lived had she not met an untimely end, nor how frequently this occurs in other undiagnosed medeians.”

“Did she show any signs of regeneration?” Tristan asked.

“Damage that repaired itself magically, you mean? No,” Dalton said. “She simply didn’t degenerate as a mortal should.”

“Would she have been more or less susceptible to disease?” (Reina.)

“Unclear. Her village was particularly homogenous.”

“Did she contract any significant illnesses?” (Tristan again.)

“No, but she was regularly vaccinated, so that would not be out of the ordinary.”

“The common cold,” Callum suggested drily, and Dalton shrugged.

“Most people do not take note of commonalities,” he said, “hence the inadequacy of our existing research.”

“What exactly are we supposed to do with this?” Nico asked, his fingers tapping impatiently at his sides. “Her magical specialty was… life?”

“Somewhere in her genetics is the ability to not decay,” Dalton replied, which appeared to be confirmation. “We have no way of knowing how common this ability is, which is part of the purpose for research. Is Viviana the only one?” he posed to the group. “Have there been, historically, others? If none have lived long enough to become remarkable, then do people blessed with longevity typically attract fatalities? Is it possible they habitually die young, and if so, is this a result of magic?”

“Or,” Dalton asked after a moment of silence, “is it somehow proof of fate?”

Parisa felt her eyes narrow, at odds with Dalton’s offhanded remark. Magic the way they typically studied it was narrow, predictable, scientific in its results. Fate was inherently not. The magnetic quality of being drawn to a particular end was to remove the option of choice, which was so displeasing as to prick her slightly. Parisa did not care for the sensation of not being in control; it filled her mouth with bitterness, like excess salivation.

“You said something had come up,” Reina said in her low voice. “Is this not what was planned for our next subject?”

Dalton tilted his head, reconciling with what appeared to be his own thoughts. “Yes and no. The unit of study following the initiation rites is always death,” he said. “Most often we perform the traditional rituals on the eliminated member.”

Tristan twitched with discomfort. Callum, solemnly, did not move.

“This particular case is, contrary to its appearance, fortuitous timing,” Dalton flippantly remarked. “The Society’s work remains uninterrupted, in a sense.”

“Does it?” said Nico blisteringly, and Dalton slid a glance to him.

“For all intents and purposes, yes,” he said. “Initiation will move forward as scheduled. You will also find that the units on life and death will allow you to access far more of the library’s resources.”

“And in exchange?” Parisa prompted.

Dalton’s shoulders gave his customary indication of tension at the sound of her voice. It was a reflex born from a need to not look so quickly, fighting eagerness, which ultimately manifested like a tic of hesitation.

“You are beholden to the Society as it is beholden to you,” he said without expression, before returning his attention to the details of Viviana’s undiagnosed medeian status.

Parisa left the remainder of her questions for when they were alone. When she found him, Dalton was sitting in the reading room over a single book, toying with something out of her sight; invisible. Whatever it was he was doing, it was causing him intense strain. She watched the fight go out of him at the realization of her presence and stepped forward to reach him, smoothing a bead of sweat from his brow.

“What is it?” she murmured.

He glanced blearily up at her from a distance, traversing miles of thought.

“Do you know why he wants you?” he asked.

It was a question that had been plaguing Parisa since Libby’s disappearance, if not earlier.

“No,” she said.

“I do.” He leaned his cheek against her hand, closing his eyes. “It’s because you know how to starve.”

They sat in silence as Parisa considered the implications of this. After all, was there a way to starve properly?