Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

“He might stick,” Ioana argued, and his estimation of her rose a bit. At least she was more cautious about dismissing him than the rest. “Did you see the way he was watching us?”

“It was hard to miss,” Cristian said smugly.

“What are you going to do about it?” Ioana asked. “Your father won’t let you run off another one.” She was a planner. If there was any hope of surviving this job, he’d have to either find a way to earn her trust, or find a way to avoid her direct ire.

“I have no intention of running this one off,” Cristian promised. “I just want to...ruffle him a bit. It was so easy to earlier.” His silky, teasing words made Atlas’s gut clench low and hot.

“Cristian—”

“Trust me, Ioana. We’ll leave him to panic before reappearing miraculously at the end of his shift. You saw him earlier with Helias. He’s stubborn and far too confident in his abilities. He won’t go to anyone else for help. He’ll swallow down his complaints and stick out the job. He’s used to suffering.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” Ioana said.

“That’s because it is. The longer he’s here, the more we can play with him.”

He didn’t need to hear any more. Atlas retraced his steps back to the piano room and reflected on Cristian’s unnervingly accurate description of him. Only a handful of people had ever been able to read him so well. His grandmother. Bea. His platoon. And Bea was the only one still alive. For Cristian to have cataloged him, defined him, after so few meetings...

He’s used to suffering.

Fuck, he needed to come at this job from a different angle. He needed to throw Cristian off, find a way to fake like tonight hadn’t already gotten under his skin.

“Sitrep, Marine,” he muttered under his breath.

What did he know? Clearly Cristian expected him to tear the compound apart in his search. To take hours to do so. He didn’t expect Atlas to be competent enough to find him. So, Atlas’s intelligence was his greatest asset against the brat. It was a starting point.

He paused at the piano, sliding a finger over the ivory keys as he passed, too lightly to draw any sound. The same reverence he’d felt when sitting beside Mrs. Adams during their weekly lessons after church remained even now. It might be nice to try playing again, put the lessons his grandma paid for to use. But that wouldn’t be possible today, so he kept on.

Nothing but an empty sectional greeted him when he left the piano room behind. The group he’d run into earlier had left no trace of their presence, not even an empty wineglass. Atlas shook his head. At least he didn’t have to threaten anyone to keep his visit down here secret.

It didn’t take him long to return to the billiards room, though it took a second to find the latch to let him back in through the bookcase. He grabbed a napkin from the bar, along with a spare pen he found by a restocking list, and sketched out the undocumented section of the house he’d just familiarized himself with. He updated his list of security codes with additional notes. Once those tasks were complete, he

stuffed the napkin in his pocket, returned the pen, went to the table, and racked the balls. He hadn’t played in a while.

Hours later, shortly before dawn, the bookcase door creaked open and admitted Cristian and his wayward group. Cristian came to a standstill mere feet into the room. Atlas bit down on the inside of his cheek to hold his smile in check and adjusted his bridge hand for the shot. The hit was perfect and the far ball dropped into the pocket. Only then did Atlas murmur, “Mr. Slava.”

“What—” Cristian began, taking two more steps forward before drawing up. “You—”

“Knew you’d never disobey your father’s direct order to stay within the property’s bounds,” Atlas finished for him.

“But I—”

“Was perfectly safe downstairs,” Atlas agreed.

Cristian made a choked sound. “You knew?”

He sank a shot off the cushion, though it wasn’t as clean as he would have liked. God, he really did need to practice if this was how rusty he’d gotten. He rose from the table, slowly stretching to his full height so he could look down at his charge, who still stood there with his speechless friends at his back. “Knew what? That you’d slipped out through a hidden door and into a quiet room down below to compose yourself after seeing me again?” Now, despite his best efforts, the grin broke free. He shrugged. “You left a book nudged back from the rest. Wasn’t too hard to figure out from there.”

Cristian didn’t move, but his friends turned and glared at Andrei, who wilted under the weight of his failure. Good. It’d be hard for the man to act as an accomplice again if Cristian doubted he could perform a simple task correctly.

Atlas found a new position and finished out the last of his shots, sinking the balls easily. The table cleared, he faced the group once more. Andrei and Constantin wouldn’t meet his gaze. Ioana watched with steady interest. At her side, Vasilica glowered as though Atlas had personally offended her by being the better player. Only Cristian, standing ahead of them, mattered. The blend of emotions running riot over his face proved Atlas had played his hand correctly.

Cristian’s chin tipped up when Atlas stepped closer. His attempt at maintaining eye contact left him strangely vulnerable by the time they drew chest to chest. He made a nervous inhalation when Atlas leaned in, then shivered when Atlas’s breath brushed against his ear.

“I don’t know how many agents you’ve gotten to quit, or who your father has been forced to fire,” Atlas told Cristian quietly, “but this time you won’t win. You can say what you want about me, do what you think will piss me off and make me run, but I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand?”

Cristian’s balance wavered, from surprise or fear or anger, Atlas didn’t know. He didn’t reach out to steady him, didn’t shift away, didn’t retreat a single inch. Instead, he let Cristian angle in closer. Then he asked again, with a little more steel in his voice, “Do you understand?”

The gentle brush of a warm exhalation against the side of his neck was a victory only made sweeter by Cristian’s soft, unsure answer of “Yes.”