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Atlas’s hand felt cold and a bit sweaty—or maybe it was your hand that was sweaty; you aren’t sure anymore. He slowly walked toward the side of the house. His heavy breathing, mixed with your pounding heart, is the only sound that you can hear. Atlas slid the window open.

Lone man was nowhere to be found.

“He’s not here,” you muttered.

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The familiar, sweet smell lingered under your nose. It was very comforting and, at the same time, sad. Atlas started pacing, his hands behind his head.

“Where is he? "Atlas muttered over and over, “I need him.”

You tried to place your hand over Atlas’s shoulder, but he flinched. “Hey, maybe he headed out a few minutes before we came here.”

The bright moonlight illuminated the rest of the room and Atlas' face, which slowly contorted into disappointment and then anger. You stepped back.

“We need to find him; we can’t just stay here and wait for him,” Atlas replied sternly. "And I think I know where to find him.”

You nodded.

—

Follow Atlas – Page 371