The Atlas Paradox (The Atlas, #2)

by Olivie Blake

He always said I had an imagination, that I saw things the way I did because I was making it up. And it’s wild, isn’t it, that I believe him? Because I do, I believe him,” Tristan said, “and that’s the shittiest part, that when I was supposed to be learning how to see the world, how to be part of it, he taught me to be scared all the time. I’m so fucking afraid that I can’t see things clearly unless I go back there, to feeling like maybe I could die. And in the moment where I have to think yes, all right then, I’ll do it—in that moment”—Tristan exhaled—“the hardest moment, the one that until coming here, I have done absolutely everything in my power never to face again—in that moment I have to see the impossible, the unbelievable, and then somehow find the energy to say no, I won’t. I won’t fall, I won’t drown, I won’t break, and I won’t—” A breath. “I won’t fucking forgive him,” Tristan said. “And I won’t forgive anyone else who makes me ask myself if I deserve to live.”