“I’m not sick.” The words rush out too fast, too sharp, and his eyes narrow slightly, catching on the edge of my desperation.

“You’re throwing up, you look like you’re about to collapse, and you want me to believe that’s normal?”

I grind my teeth, hating that my body has betrayed me so publicly. “It’s just something I ate.”

His expression darkens. “That’s bullshit, and we both know it.”

I jerk against his hold, trying to put space between us, but he doesn’t let me go. Not forcefully. Not in a way that makes me feel trapped. But in a way that tells me he’s not going to let me run—not yet.

“Blythe.” His voice softens, threading through my defenses like a needle through frayed fabric. “Come upstairs. Just for a minute.”

I shake my head. “I need to go.”

“I’m not asking you to stay,” he says, and the quiet conviction in his tone makes my throat tighten. “Just talk to me, and probably change your clothes. If after we’re done, you still want to leave, I’ll even give you money so you can head to another town.”

I want to believe him.

I need to believe him.

But trusting a man’s word has never worked out for me before.

I hesitate, staring at the door, at my purse still slung over my shoulder, at the street beyond this place that I should already be walking down. But my stomach still churns, my body still feels like it’s running on fumes, and the idea of making it more than a few blocks in this state seems impossible.

Atlas watches me carefully like he knows exactly what’s going through my head, like he’s waiting for the moment I realize I don’t have much of a choice.

I hate that he’s right.

I hate that I let myself end up in this position in the first place.

But mostly, I hate that a part of me—some small, foolish part buried beneath years of survival instincts—is tempted to let someone else carry a little of the burden for once.

Just for a minute.

Just long enough to figure out where I’m going to head to.

I exhale shakily, avoiding his gaze. “Fine, but just for a moment.”

His grip loosens, his expression unreadable. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, I make another mistake.

I let him lead me upstairs.

Chapter Ten

Atlas

This isn’t exactly what I planned to do today.

Actually, I didn’t have a plan at all.

I was hoping Blythe wouldn’t show up at all. Since I assumed the shop would be empty, I was hoping to swing by the parlor in Brooklyn this weekend. I usually get a few clients when I’m a guest there—and they always have an empty chair available for me.