𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 || j. daniel atlas

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

"How is everyone?" Alena asked.

The shower was running, though she had just taken a long soak in the tub, and her mother was on the phone.

"Fine. But worried," her mother replied.

"Why?" Alena scowled at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her hair dripped on her bare shoulders, her towel wrap slipping down at the front.

"You said you weren't safe."

"I said I was, that I just need to keep it that way."

"And? Are you?"

"For now. But I think things are going to unravel pretty soon. Tonight, maybe."

"Is it...safe for us to be talking?" Her mother's voice had begun to tremble.

"No, probably not." Alena had to fight to keep hers from doing the same. "I don't know, I just- I called because...I wanted to hear your voice." The words caught, and she cleared her throat loudly and sniffed.

"Don't you go saying things like that! Remember how you used to tell me off for talking like that?"

"I know," Alena said, softly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."

Her mother sighed. Alena could picture the woman gathering herself up. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Talk," said Alena, after a moment. "Talk to me, like you did after things went bad. Talk about the good times, times without him. Just talk."

"Okay."

Alena turned off the shower, trusting her mother would be smart enough not to disclose anything about their recent change of location. If Walter was listening, he'd only hear mother and daughter reminiscing over the parts of Alena's childhood that they could stand to remember.

Alena stretched her makeup routine as thin as she could. She wanted to fill every choking second between now and when she next heard news of the Horsemen. Her mother's voice shimmered with merriment whilst she recalled evenings in the community centre, songs out in the allotments at harvest time, some things they had spoken about only weeks before, others Alena couldn't remember at all. But just listening to the stories was like a cool glass of whiskey sloshing over her nerves, numbing them, steadying her hands.

"I'm still really good at table football," Alena smiled, the memory of her evening with Daniel warming her cheeks.

"You and your cousins should have a rematch when we next see you."

Alena hummed contentedly. "I like that. 'When we next see you.'"

"It will be soon, won't it?" her mother asked.

"I hope so."

A knock echoed through the suite. "Hang on, Mama." Alena grabbed a bathrobe – not wanting to answer the door in her underwear and lacey stockings – and hurried through the bedroom. "Who is it?" she called through the door.

"Mr Mabry wants you," came a voice in heavily accented English.

"He would usually come himself," Alena replied, frowning a little.

"He's waiting down at the docks. He sent a car."

"Alright." Alena took a deep breath. "I'll be down in ten minutes."