I choose not to dwell on it, but the thought lingers, curling around my ribs like a warning. Because suddenly, the future doesn’t just look grim—it feels like a ticking clock, and I have no idea what happens when time runs out.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Atlas

I’ve been preparing for Winston and his people.

Am I ready?

I’d say I’m eighty percent sure I could take them on my own if they showed up right now, but protecting Blythe and the baby? That’s the part that keeps me awake at night. The part that turns this from a calculated plan into something personal. Taking them down is one thing. Keeping them safe? That’s everything.

According to Sanford, I have two operatives stationed nearby, ready to assist if things go sideways. In theory, they’ll be enough. But theory means shit in the real world, and I don’t trust anyone I haven’t worked with before. I don’t even know their names.

Could I reach out to Malerick? Get him to back me up like he did with Hopper when Nysa was in danger?

Maybe.

But Malerick hates me, and I have no reason to believe that’s changed. If anything, he’d probably enjoy watching me struggle. And that’s probably the other thing I should have been preparing for these past five weeks—my family. The town.

Because it’s not just Winston’s people, I have to worry about. Sooner or later, everyone in Birchwood Springs is going to start asking questions about my happy marriage to the woman I keep close—too close.

She goes to some places alone. The Honey Drop and the library, mostly. Says the books I get her aren’t enough. But I’ve seen the looks people give her. The curiosity. The doubt. I should have realized from the beginning that nothing about this relationship was ever going to be invisible.

I figured—nothing.

The plan was simple: just do what I always did when I came back to visit Therese. I kept my head down, ignored people as much as possible, and focused on the only reason I was here.

But that doesn’t work when you live in town with a woman who’s pregnant and works for you, does it?

Now, everything is different.

Nysa and Delilah’s visit made that clear. I can’t pretend everything outside this shop doesn’t exist. I have to play along. I have to make it look like Blythe, and I have a happy marriage. Like, I’m not some asshole isolating my wife from the rest of the world.

Which, for the record, I am not doing.

I’m keeping her safe.

There’s a difference. A huge difference.