Page 122 of The Atom Between Us

“He’s alive,” Maven replies, and for a second I see something hard flicker in their eyes.

The conversation is interrupted by a scream from the far end of the hall—a child, laughing, not pain. But it makes my heart skip. I press my good hand to my sternum, counting beats, waiting for the adrenaline to ebb.

Maven watches me. “You want out, just say so.”

I shake my head. “We’re fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Maven corrects, “but you’re better than last week.”

Kang’s hand is on my thigh, not high, not sexual, just there. I stare at it, the way the fingers spread, the nails bitten down to the quick.

Maven leans in, voice soft. “Take a walk. Get some air.”

I look at Kang. He nods, and I realize how badly I want to leave.

I stand, the dress catching at the back of my knees. My shoulder screams as I push up, but I hide it. Kang’s hand hovers, but he lets me move on my own. We walk, side by side, through the rows of benches and out into the corridor. The noise falls away, replaced by the hum of the tunnel fans.

Before the door closes behind us, I look back. Maven is already talking to the drunk, their hand on his shoulder, voice too low to hear. The drunk’s head is down, eyes fixed on the floor. I wonder if Maven is threatening him, or just explaining the rules.

I decide it doesn’t matter.

The tunnel is empty, the only light from a row of dying bulbs overhead. The air is cool, and the silence is a balm.

We walk, neither of us speaking. Kang’s pace matches mine exactly. I can feel the heat coming off his body, even though we’re not touching.

When we reach the end of the corridor, I stop and turn. Kang stops, too, facing me square.

“Thanks,” I say, voice quiet.

He tilts his head, “You didn’t need me.”

“Maybe not,” I say. “But it was nice.”

He smiles, just a little. “Let’s get you back.”

The tunnel to the quarters is always longer at night. Each step away from the hall makes the world a little colder, a little emptier. The hum of air exchangers is the only sound, unless you count the echo of my own heartbeat. Kang walks beside me, close but not touching, his presence the one warm thing left in the dark. We don’t say anything. We don’t need to.

We’re halfway home when we hear the scuffle. At first, it’s just shuffling—someone unsteady, shoes scraping concrete. Then a wet cough, the kind of sound you make after a punch to the gut. Kang goes instantly rigid. His pace slows to a controlled stalk, and I match him step for step, the hairs on my arms raising.

The drunk is waiting for us at the corner, leaning with his back to the wall like he’s holding it up with sheer spite. His bottle is gone, replaced by an ugly scowl and a limp. He spots us and straightens, wiping spit from his chin.

“Well, look who it is,” he slurs, the words slick with venom. “Queen bitch and her Authority dog.”

Kang stops dead. His eyes narrow into slits of emerald fire, and his entire body locks down, a predator coil-tight before the strike. He doesn’t say a word, but the silence radiating from him is a physical threat.

The drunk points at Kang, wavering. “How does it feel, huh? Being a traitor? Licking boots for the lab coat?”

Kang’s fists flex at his sides, a twitch of muscle I know too well. He’s seconds from tearing the man’s throat out, and I can’t say I’d blame him.

The drunk’s attention swings to me. “What’s it like, doc? Taking orders from a soldier? Bet he fucks like a machine—straight in, straight out, doesn’t even say your name.”

I step forward, closing the space between us. The stink of old beer and rotting teeth is almost enough to make me gag.

“Back off,” I say, voice flat.

He laughs, spraying flecks of saliva onto my dress. “Or what? You gonna stick a needle in me? Make me forget I ever met you?”

My blood freezes. Needle. Forget. The words hit a nerve so raw it sings with guilt. My fragmented memories of the lab, of the things I studied, the things I authorized, the way I left my own mind like a bombed-out structure—it all surges up. The experiments. The forgotten lives. His mockery isn’t wrong; I am the reason people forget… at least I think so.