103
" Because of this place I’m a murderer,” he said. “Complicity,” he amended after a moment’s consideration. “Soon to be.” The last was a conclusive mutter.
“Get to the funny part,” Libby suggested dryly.
“Well, there’s a stain on me now, isn’t there? A mark. Would kill for…followed by a blank space.” Nico summoned the knife back to his palm, only of course it didn’t register that way. One moment the knife was cast aside, the next it was in his hand. “I wouldn’t have that if I hadn’t come here. And I wouldn’t have come here at all if it weren’t for you.”
She wondered if he blamed her. He didn’t sound accusatory, but it was hard not to assume that he was. “You were going to do it regardless, remember?”
“Yeah but only because they asked you.”
He glanced down at the knife in his hand, turning it over to inspect the blade.
“Inseverable,” he said, neither to himself nor her.
“What?”
“Inseverable,” he repeated, louder this time. He glanced at her, shrugging. “One of those if-then calculations, right? We met, so now we can’t detach. We’re just going to always play a weird game of…what’s the word? The thing, espejo, the game. The mirror game.”
“Mirror game?”
“Yeah, you do one thing, I do it too. Mirror.”
Libby asked, “But who does it first?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Do you resent it?”
He looked down at the knife, and then back up at her.
“Apparently, I’d kill to protect it,” he said, “so yeah.”
“We could stop,” she suggested. “Stop playing the game.”
“Stop where? Stop here? No,” Nico said with a shake of his head, fingers tapping at his side. “This isn’t far enough.”
“But what if it’s too far?”
“It is,” he agreed. “Too far to stop.”
“Paradox,” Libby observed aloud, and Nico’s mouth twisted with wry acknowledgement.
“Isn’t it? The day you are not a fire,” he said, “is the day the earth will fall still for me. "
― Olivie Blake , The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)
104
" What are we celebrating?”
“Our fragile mortality,” Tristan said. “The inevitability that we will descend into chaos and dust.”
“Grim,” Callum offered appreciatively, closing a hand around Tristan’s shoulder. “Try not to tell Rhodes that or she’ll start decaying all over the place.”
Because he could not resist, Tristan asked, “What if she’s tougher than you think she is?”
Callum shrugged, dismissive.
“I’m just curious,” Tristan clarified, “whether that would please you or send you into a spiral of existential despair.”
“Me? I never despair,” said Callum. “I am only ever patently unsurprised.”
Not for the first time, Tristan considered how the ability to estimate people to the precise degree of what they were must be a dangerous quality to have. The gift of understanding a person’s reality, both their lightness and darkness, without the flaws of perception to blur their edges or to lend meaning to their existence was…unsettling.
A blessing, or a curse.
“And if I disappoint you?” Tristan prompted.
“You disappoint me all the time, Caine. It’s why I’m so very fond of you,” Callum mused, beckoning Tristan toward the library and its finer bottles of vintage scotch. "
― Olivie Blake , The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)
107
" Varona, if you’re planning to do something stupid—”
“First of all,” Nico said, spinning curtly to address her as she stumbled into his back, “if I were to elect to do something stupid, I would not require your opinion on the matter. Secondly—”
“You can’t just run around playing with things unnecessarily just because you’re bored,” Libby retorted, sounding matronly and exhausted. As if she were his mother or his keeper, which she resolutely was not. “What if you’re needed for something?”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Something.” She glared at him, exasperated. “Perhaps it stands to reason, Varona, that you shouldn’t do stupid things simply because they’re stupid. Or does that not compute? "
― Olivie Blake , The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)
110
" He disliked the anxiety of listlessness, which was as constant to him as Libby’s unrelenting undercurrent of fear. Fear of what? Failure, probably. She was the sort of perfectionist who was so desperately frightened of being any degree of inadequate that, on occasion, the effort of trying at all was enough to paralyze her with doubt. Nico, meanwhile, never considered failure an option, and whether that was ultimately to his detriment, at least it did not restrain him.
If Libby made the mistake of thinking herself too small, then Nico would gladly consider himself too vast by contrast. If anything, the opportunity to swell beyond the ceiling of his existing powers ignited him. Why not reach further, for things beyond the limits of his current grasp? Surely it was reasonable if it meant helping Gideon. Even when the options were to reach the sun or collide flaming with the sea, safety was a uselessness Nico de Varona couldn’t abide. "
― Olivie Blake , The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)
112
" Hm. What to do, at this point? Keep going was the only answer Nico had ever known. Failure, stopping, ceasing to be or do was never an option. He gritted his teeth, shivering with a chill or a shudder of power that left him like an expulsive, painful sneeze. Ouch, fuck, bless you, the sort of burst that could ultimately break a rib or burst a blood vessel, which most people were not aware a sneeze could do. Funny how that worked; the innocent fragility of being human. There were so many ways to break and do few of them heroic or noble. "
― Olivie Blake , The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)
113
" At least if he disintegrated onto the useless parlor furniture Libby could use his eulogy as an opportunity for posthumous lecture, or so he assumed. “Nicolás Ferrer de Varona was an idiot,” she would say, “an idiot who never believed he had limits despite being heartily assured so by me, and did you know it was possible to die from overexertion? He knew, of course, be yu told him so plenty of times, but surprise surprise, he never listened. "
― Olivie Blake , The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)
116
" You don’t concern yourself much with being liked, do you?” Tristan asked, half amused.
No, I don’t.” He was doubtful that Tristan would be capable of understanding that, but the sensation of being liked was extraordinarily dull. It was the closest thing to vanilla that Callum could think of, though nothing was truly comparable. Being feared was a bit like anise, like absinthe. A strange and arousing flavor. Being admired was golden, maple-sweet. Being despised was woodsy, sulfuric aroma, smoke in his nostrils, something to choke on, when done properly. Being envied was tart, a citrusy tang, like green apple.
Being desired was Callum’s favorite. That was smoky, too, in a sense, but more sultry, cloaked and perfumed in precisely what it was. It smelled like tangled bedsheets. It tasted like a flicker of a candle flame. It felt like a sigh, a quiet one; concessionary and pleading. He could always feel it on his skin, sharp as a blade. Piercing, like the groan of a lover in his ear.
“Being liked is fairly ordinary, I’m afraid,” Callum said. “Intensely commonplace. "
― Olivie Blake , The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)
118
" You,” Gideon realized aloud, glaring at Nico. “You set up a ward against her without telling me, didn’t you?”
“What? That’s crazy,” Nico said blandly.
“Nico, you had no right—”
Immediately, he gave up the (very weak) game. “That’s ridiculous, of course I did—”
“—You can’t just interfere without telling me—”
“—I was going to tell you; in fact, I’m sure I already did! It’s not my fault if you didn’t read the minutes closely—”
“—for the last time, my mother is my problem, not yours—”
That, of course, was met with a growl of frustration from Nico. “Haven’t you figured out by now that I want your problems?” Nico demanded, half shouting it, and thankfully, Gideon’s mouth snapped shut. “Your pain is my problem, you idiot prince. You little motherfucker.” Nico rubbed his temple wearily as Gideon’s lips twisted up, half laughing. “Don’t laugh. Don’t…don’t look at me, stop it. Stop it—”
“What are these pet names, Nicky?”
“Shut up. I’m angry.”
“Why are you angry?”
“Because you seem to think for some stupid reason that you should be handling everything on your own—”
“—when really you should be handling it on your own, is that it?”
Touché. The bastard.
“Gideon, for fuck’s sake, I’m rich and extremely handsome,” Nico growled. “Do you think I have my own problems? No, I do not, so let me have yours. Put me to use, I beg you.”
Gideon rolled his eyes. “You are,” he said, and exhaled. “unbearable. "
― Olivie Blake , The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)
