Before Brian could answer, two figures emerged from behind a cluster of motorcycles. One was tall, bleach-blond hair catching the neon like it was made for the light. The other hung back, arms crossed, watching the crowd.

His eyes landed on you. He stopped mid-stride. Looked you up and down, slow, unbothered. Then, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Atlas blinked. His eyes flicked from Brian to you, then back to Brian. The smirk didn't disappear, but something shifted in his face. Something colder.

He shrugged, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets, already turning back toward the bikes like you weren't even worth another second of his time.