” You know. “

“Hm?”

” What happened to that inn ?”

He sighs and closes the book he was reading. In front of me, open wide was ‘The Guide To All Fruits There Are’ .

” The inn is fine. “

” How so? Can we go and visit? “

” We can’t “

” Why?? “

” Someone told the whole village that she s a victim in a kidnapping incident. “

Ha? How does he know that.

” Just how… “

” I have my ways. And i must remember you that I am the one who brings the food from there. I might know a person or two. “

” … I see. ” I cross my arms.

” Its still your fault! We could have visited the village like civilised people!! But you choose to lock me up.”

He sighs and gets up.

” where are you going?”

“Im done with the conversation. Shall we go and sunbathe outside then? I might as well change my ways, and going out should be fine for now.”

‘Huuuuuh?’

“What? Are… are you for real? No, wait, am I a pet or something to you?”

” A pet?”

He tilts his head. Ugh, never mind. Still, this is a victory. He said it so casually that for a second I wondered if I’d imagined the last weeks of captivity.

“Wait— wait, wait.” I jabbed a finger at him. “You lock me up for days, refuse to let me see another living human, accuse me of inciting a village-wide kidnapping panic, and now you want to…go sunbathing?”

“Exactly.”

I groaned and slumped back into the chair. “This feels like a trap.”

Atlas ignored me and crossed the room with his usual measured grace.“Come,” he said, reaching for the door handle.

“Come?” I squeaked. “That’s it? No leash?”

He paused just long enough to arch a brow. “Do you require a leash?”

“What? No!” My face went hot. “That was sarcasm.”

“Ah,” he said. “I still struggle with your sarcasm sometimes. It’s very…creative.”

” Creative, my ass. Just open that door. “

He does so, easily, like my eforts were all for nothing.

Like so, the door opens and i get blinded by the sun.

The front yard, or random-patch-of-forest-yard—was a riot of green. Sunlight filtered through tall pines, dappling the grass in gold. The air smelled of moss and something faintly sweet, like wild berries hiding just out of sight.

Atlas led the way to a small clearing where a worn wooden bench waited as though it had been expecting us. He gestured toward it with exaggerated politeness. “Your throne, my lady, the queen of arsonists.”

I squinted at the bench. “Does it explode?”

“Not yet.”

“Comforting.”

I sat anyway, the wood warm beneath my palms. The sunlight hit my face like a slow-moving, warm wave. I blinked up at the sky and tried not to admit it felt…good.

Atlas settled beside me, keeping just enough distance to be polite and just little enough to be annoying. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and sighed in obvious enjoyment.

I watched him for a long moment, suspicious. “You look like a lizard on a rock.”

“High praise,” he said without opening his eyes.

“Do you bask like this every day while I’m stuck inside?”

“Only when the weather allows.”

“So cruel”

His mouth twitched, fighting a smile. “You are relentless.”

“Im not.”

“Yes, you are”

Silence settled between us, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional birdcall. For once, it wasn’t uncomfortable. The sunlight made everything feel slower, softer. My anger—real or theatrical—began to melt like butter left too close to the fire.

After a while, I said, “You know this doesn’t mean you’re forgiven, right?”

Atlas didn’t open his eyes. “For which crime? The nonexistent fire or the fruit guide?”

“All of them.”

“And you still owe me a village trip.”

“Unlikely.”

“Ugh…”. He s at it again.

I cleared my throat and looked away, focusing on a particularly judgmental squirrel in a nearby tree. “Anyway,” I said briskly, “you still haven’t explained the fruit guide.”

“It’s educational.”

“Educational for what? Are we planning to open a farm? Grow a garden? Start making money from sales? Where do you usually get your money?”

“One question at a time.”

Out on nowere, something small and round hits my head.

“Ouch-“

Atlas followed my gaze and gave a small nod toward the tree. “Even the wildlife agrees you’re talking too much. That squirrel ran away after trowing that at you.”

“…stupid squrrel.”

Suddently, the breeze shifted, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers. I inhaled deeply, trying to memorize it—this tiny pocket of peace, the warmth, the faint edge of something unspoken between us.

Eventually Atlas said, “Would you like to visit the stream tomorrow?”

I turned to him sharply. “Stream? There’s a stream and you’ve been hiding it from me?”

“I wasn’t hiding it.”

I gaped at him. “You hide a lot, you know?Do you also have a secret orchard? A hidden bakery? A stash of forbidden cheese?”

“Perhaps,” he said, maddeningly calm. “You’ll have to earn those revelations.”

I tried to hold onto my indignation, but the sun was warm, the air smelled like freedom, and Atlas looked far too content for me to stay angry.

“…Fine,” I said at last, leaning back on the bench. “Show me the stream tomorrow.

And just like that, he did the biggest mistake.