I move fast, too fast, heading straight for Atlas’s truck, gripping the handle and yanking the door open before he can catch up. The leather seat is freezing when I slide in, and I keep my hands in my lap, clenching them into fists to stop the shaking.

Atlas doesn’t start the truck right away. He sits behind the wheel, watching me, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel, his jaw tight.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on in your head, or do I have to guess?”

I stare straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Nothing’s going on,” I lie. “I just want to go . . .” I want to say home, but I don’t have one. It’s just some apartment this man so graciously is giving me because, apparently, he decided to save me.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I mumble. “It’s just easier if you just let me get my things and drive me to a bus station. Maybe I can go to Canada.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn the key in the ignition.

“You don’t have a home,” he says evenly. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

I flinch. His words hit too close, cut too deep.

My fingers tighten around the sleeves of my hoodie, knuckles turning white. He’s right. I don’t have a home. I could find places to hide, places to pass through, places where I could pretend are safe until I have to run again.

But I don’t say that. Instead, I latch onto the only thing I can control. “I can handle myself.”

Atlas exhales through his nose. “That right?” His voice is rough. “Because from where I’m sitting, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

I bristle. “I’m fine.”

“Fuck, I’m getting tired of this whole ‘I’m fine,’” Atlas snaps, his voice cutting through the thick silence between us. His knuckles go white around the steering wheel. “You’re not fine. You’re running from a monster. You’re pregnant and alone. You need a family.” His voice dips, rough and certain. “I can’t give you that. But I can give you shelter.”

A bitter laugh catches in my throat. “Well, when I leave, you’ll get to rest.”

His hands flex on the wheel. “Is that what you want?”