I close my eyes, gripping the phone like it’s the only thing tethering me to this moment. To the life, I refuse to lose.

I glance around the room, my gaze snagging on the ultrasound photo tucked between the pages of Atlas’s sketchpad. A piece of our future hidden between his lines and ink. My stomach knots.

“Everything is moving too fast,” I murmur. “He had to step into some meeting—I think. He’s just downstairs, but still . . .”

Nysa doesn’t respond right away. I hear the shift in her breathing, the subtle pause before she settles in, ready to listen, ready to hold space.

“Is it your ex really close?”

“I think so.” My voice barely makes it past my lips, the fear curling around it, dragging it down. “Something happened. He might find me soon.”

Nysa swears under her breath. “Atlas is close by. Nothing’s going to happen.” A beat. Then, “The real question is, what’s your next move, Blythe?”

I turn toward the window. Outside, the lights of Birchwood Springs shimmer in the distance. My reflection stares back—eyes tired, face thinner than it was months ago as if parts of me have been carved away by the running, the waiting. My hand drifts to my stomach, where our daughter is growing.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I won’t run. Even if it might be safer for Atlas.” My throat tightens. “What if Winston hurts him?”

“Atlas is like a cockroach,” Nysa says, then lets out a short laugh. “I mean that in a good way. He’d survive the apocalypse.”

I don’t smile. “Not exactly reassuring.”

She sighs. “Sorry. That was insensitive. It’s just—he’s like my brother. The thought of him getting hurt—” She exhales loudly, and I understand why she’s trying to add some humor to this. We’re talking about Atlas and . . . yeah, the thought of him getting hurt is jarring. “Look, if you need to come here while he deals with your ex, you’re welcome.”

“I can’t do that,” I say instantly. “I won’t put you, Maddy, or Hopper in danger.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she argues. “We have security here—a lot of it. These Timberbridge men? They’re overprotective as fuck. After what happened to me, this place is basically a fortress. No one’s getting in.”

I should believe her and maybe accept her invitation. Should let that ease some of the fear clawing at me. But the only thing that feels certain right now is that Winston won’t stop until he finds me.

And Atlas . . . if I lost him . . . “I should just go,” I whisper. “Make sure none of you get caught in the crossfire. I care too much about you to let anything happen.”