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"Do you know why?" The way he poses the question leads me to believe that he already knows the answer. Of course, he would. What doesn't he know about?
"Atlas." Is all I say, and it's all he needs to bob his head in confirmation that his suspicions are well founded. "It's something that happens when I think about him," I admit. "Do you know how I can get it to stop?"
His eyes flick up to meet mine, but he doesn't say anything for several treacherous heartbeats. "You will never stop it from happening," he says and my shoulders sag in defeat, "but you can control it."
"How?"
"Think of it as a box with separate compartments." He quickly explains as footsteps of students approaching his lecture hall sound. "When you think about Professor Harland, whether good thoughts or bad, visualize yourself putting them into a box in your mind. Those thoughts are for you and you alone."
"What if I can't do it?" I whisper as students trickle in the door behind me.
Professor Riggs' eyes are kind, but I can see the deadly storm brewing in them. "You will have to learn. If the enemy discovers what Professor Harland means to you, not just as a partner in magic, but as a person in your life, he could be used against you."
A lump forms in my throat. "You mean, they would hurt him."
"If they get their hands on him, whether or not they know about your hands glowing, they'll torture him. He's a Tronovian."
"But you just said – "
"Yes," he interrupts with a hushed tone. "Used against you in the sense that they would convince you to do horrific things in the name of saving the man you – "
"I don't," I cut him off, more frightened now than before. "He's a friend. He's just a friend."
The suspicious quirk of his eyebrow leads me to believe he's not falling for that lie, but he graciously humors me none-the-less. "Of course. My apologies, Princess. I just meant, if you don't get your tells under control, then you leave yourself and Professor Harland open to be used as bargaining chips. Keep your feelings to yourself, and only allow access to those you permit entrance."
The second bell chimes and I realize Professor Riggs has a lecture hall filled with what looks like sixth years staring at us. My belly heats at the hundreds of eyes pinned on me, and it's then I realize I'm late for Atlas' class. Fiddling with the backpack strap looped over my shoulder, I bob my head toward Professor Riggs.
"Thank you, Professor. Until tomorrow?"
He smiles sadly up at me and says, "Until tomorrow, Princess."
"You're late."
All excuses die on the tip of my tongue because although I can hear him, I don't see him anywhere. I finally spot him at the top corner of the bleachers. His legs are stretched across the wooden row, and his arms are folded across his chest. Even though his back is pinned against the wall and his head is tilted back, he manages to address me without opening his eyes. It's weird that he can sense me without looking my way.
"Where's Nyx?" he asks.
"At home, sick." I toss my small bag down onto the floor and rummage through it, snatching the gloves Atlas gave me and slip them on. I fiddle with the wrist strap, not able to get them on tight enough. I mutter a curse under my breath, using my teeth to pull the band. Clearly rattled by what Riggs and I discussed, I know if I don't get my thoughts and jitters under control, Atlas will notice and question me. I'm not sure what I would even say. I haven't broached the topic of Tethering with him yet and I want to have more understanding of the subject before I do.
"Let me," he says, startling me. I hadn't heard him come down and I certainly hadn't noticed how close he'd gotten to me. I have to be more aware of my surroundings like Finn mentioned, keeping my wits about me. If he had been an enemy soldier, he would have gotten the drop on me.
When I nod in reluctant acceptance of his help, Atlas scoops my hand in his and quickly goes to work securing the fingerless leather gloves. The tips of his fingers graze mine and I'm suddenly very aware that we are all alone. As if he has the same thought at the same moment, he flicks his gaze up to meet mine and slowly finishes tightening my second glove.
"Nice gloves," he teases.
"Thanks," I steady my thundering heart and retrieve my hands from his. "I intend to add a boot knife to my growing collection."
A wicked smirk plays on his face. "Is that so?"
"It is."
"You seem awfully confident today."
I shrug, doing my best to mask the panic brewing inside. The thought of him harmed and used against me is all I can think about. I pray to the Father of Light, the stars above and seas below, that he won't pick up on my mood, but either the higher ups despise me, or they use my embarrassment for their amusement, because Atlas dips his head low to catch my line of sight.
"What's wrong?" A seriousness washes over him.
"Nothing," my voice cracks.
