Nico is taller than me by a good bit, built like someone who was raised on violence and born to lead. His dark hair is mussed up from our altercation, and a sort of savage pleasure fills me as I take in the bruise that’s blooming on his handsome face from where I hit him. His mismatched eyes—one blue and one green—glitter as he stares back at me, his gaze scanning my face. His friend and de facto bodyguard, Atlas Demaro, is the one keeping me shoved against the wall. Atlas isn’t quite as bulky as Nico, and definitely not as built as their third friend, Killian Graves. But he has a fighter’s
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