Page 117 of The Atom Between Us

The air between us changes. The laughter fades, replaced by something heavier, denser. I can feel it in my chest, in the place where the pain used to be.

Kang moves, fast and quiet. One hand finds my waist, fingers splaying across the lace and the flesh beneath. He pulls me in—not rough, but not gentle either. The strength in his grip is unmistakable.

He leans down, mouth at my ear. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmurs, the words a shock against my skin.

I shiver. “Try me.”

His hand tightens, just enough to remind me how much bigger he is. He breathes in, the heat of it ghosting down my neck.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, and it’s not a compliment. It’s a confession. “You walk around in this, and you expect me to behave?”

I tilt my head back, daring him. “I don’t expect anything from you.”

He growls, a sound low in his throat. “You want me to tear it off you right here?”

“Maybe,” I say, and my voice is almost steady.

He kisses the side of my neck, teeth scraping the skin just above my collarbone. I gasp, the sound embarrassingly loud in the empty tunnel. His other hand finds my hip, pulling me closer, until I can feel every line of him against me.

“Fuck, Dee…” he says again, the words barely more than breath. “You’re going to get me killed.”

I smile, my heart hammering. “You first, Kang.”

He laughs, the sound raw and feral. Then he kisses me for real—hard, deep, nothing held back. His hand slides down, cups the curve of my ass, lifts me onto my toes. I let him. I wrap my arms around his neck and bite his ear, not quite gentle.

For a minute, there’s nothing but the heat of his body and the taste of his mouth. I could get lost in it, if I let myself.

I pull back, breathing hard. “Easy, captain. We still have a party to attend.”

He grins, eyes dark and wild. “You’re the one who wanted to go.”

I give him a shove, just enough to put space between us. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you help me out of this later.”

He growls again, but releases me.

I start down the tunnel, hips swinging a little more than necessary. I can feel his eyes on me the whole way.

I tell myself the party is for appearances, for information, for the chance to spot the whispers before they turn into knives. But I know the real reason: I want to see if the dress changes anything, if being seen—really seen—can shift the story of who I am here.

Kang walks beside me, a wall of quiet heat, his bruised knuckles occasionally grazing my hand. He doesn’t talk, but I can feel his attention at every step. It’s a weird relief, knowing he wants to touch but is waiting for my signal. Power I haven’t had in years, maybe ever.

The corridor to the main hall is strung with lanterns, most scavenged from old Authority stock. They run on cheap batteries or scavenged solar, and the light is a sodium blur that makes everything—dirt, stone, flesh—look yellow and urgent. It feels like we’re underwater, or on a different planet.

At the end of the corridor, just before the party, I stop and look back. Kang is right behind me, lips swollen, hair mussed. He looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world.

“Coming?” I say.

He grins, wolfish. “You have no idea.”

We walk into the light, side by side, hearts pounding.

Let the world watch.

The main hall is a pressure vessel packed with bodies, noise, and light. Even before we’re fully through the threshold, my ears are ringing. Lanterns hang from the ceiling like spores, bleeding orange and blue over the crowd. The air is sour with sweat, alcohol, and the charcoal tang of something roasting over an open flame. A hundred conversations overlap at once: laughter, arguments, the jangle of scavenged cutlery and the slap of hands on backs. It’s the kind of sensory overload that makes my skin crawl and my vision narrow to a point.

Kang and I make it two steps before the volume triples. The shift is physical; the bass of so many voices pushes against my ribs. I clench my hands at my sides, try to keep the panic caged. Training said to scan a crowd for anomalies—loose clusters, unshared glances, sudden silences. In the Sanctuary, every anomaly is the baseline. People yell across tables, trade insults, dance with hands full of bread or bottled beer. I spot Maven near the head of a table, one foot on the bench, hair backlit by a string of LEDs. They hold court with a cluster of techs, gesturing wildly with a metal cup.

Kang’s hand is at my lower back, steadying, but not possessive. “Easy,” he murmurs, his breath a damp patch behind my ear. “You’re safe here.” The words rattle around in my skull, fighting the surge of memory— Authority canteen, same density of bodies, different kind of hunger. I nod, but my jaw is too tight to speak.