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It was as if you were walking on a hot summer day, drenched with cold ice water, as you made your way back to your home. Your parents asked you what the hell was going on; they weren't happy, obviously, with all that's going on. You explained to them everything, leaving out the whole detective work details.

"If you need anything, just tell us," your mom said.

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You nodded. Maybe you need a lawyer or something like that, but knowing how poor your family is, it was like asking for a magical unicorn on Christmas day. You went to your room and laid on the bed. At least you have your parents with you; you can't imagine Atlas's case.

Atlas has zero living relatives—none that he knows of, cares about him, or knows he exists.

You tried to fall asleep but failed miserably. Whenever you close your eyes, all you can imagine is yourself wearing a prison uniform in a cell, shitting on one of those toilets.

You sighed and went out of bed.

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Go to Kristina's page 282

Go to Atlas, Page 278