Atlas’ jaw clenches, the weight of Viktor’s words and the necklace in his pocket like lead…but then her voice, small and genuinely confused, cracks through his resolve. 

“What’s wrong, Atlas?”

For a man who never falters, his hesitation is fatal. His thumb brushes her wrist where the IV is taped too tight, noticing the half-moon shadows under her eyes, the way her collarbones jut sharper than they should. His voice comes out rough, stripped of ice for once: 

“You don’t sleep. You forget to eat unless we put food in front of you.” A pause, then quieter: “You take care of everyone except yourself.”

Angel blinks, then…grins, all teeth and forced sunshine, shrugging like it’s nothing. “Sorry.” She pouts, glancing away before peeking back at him through her lashes. 

And damn him, damn it all…he softens. Pulls her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin like he can shield her from the truth, from the past, from the scar none of them noticed. 

Axel freezes in the doorway, a paper bag of takeout dangling from his fingers. His usual quip dies on his tongue. For once, he says nothing, just watches them with an unreadable expression.