Legacy // H.S

24.

'Blame it on rebellion

Don't blame it on me'

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this is a double update, don't read unless you've read 23 :)

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Harry

'He saw us yesterday, talking quietly in the corner while he and Steven bickered once more. Across the room, he watched until his cheeks turned red, and his ears were ringing, concocting all the things we plotted in his head.

And when we returned home, the child in my belly kicking for attention, he threatened me. I sat there, stunned, because it was worse than all those baseless words he'd spoken before. And it wasn't because his tone was more severe, or his nostrils flared more; it was because for the first time I believed him. For the first time, after years of taunts and empty promises, I finally found myself fearing for the life I was trying to build.

He looked at me with such certainty, and I knew then that this wasn't just a blow to his ego; he was serious. He hated seeing me finding myself comfortable enough to smile and laugh with you, and he began connecting the dots.

So, he came home, he struck me across the face, and he told me that if I ever think of running away, he'll kill me.

I think he might just do it, Connor.'

Atlas reads another of the countless letters out to me, her voice shaking with each word that leaves her lips. We've been going over them for an hour or so. She couldn't wait to show me when she walked through the door, not even stopping to say a simple hello or ask me how my day was. But I didn't care, because seeing her so energised after sleepwalking through our days made me smile.

Of course, the contents of the letters immediately rubbed any joy from my face, because it revealed something unsettling, even if we hoped to find it. She knew that her father's relationship with Marla would be the key to ruining Hugo, but it must be hard for her to use something that is so personal. Something she only just learned recently, hidden from her like a secret to be ashamed of, but still a piece of thread that could unravel to reveal so much about a man she idolised.

No one compares to her father. He saved her, he nursed her, he helped her. In her eyes, he is the guardian angel she always wished for, the one she always needed. Since his passing, everyday has been a struggle for Atlas. But she's strong. So strong she doesn't even realise her own strength. I look at her and I only see resilience and power, a force always buried within her but long unnoticed until she had no choice but to stare upon it.

I admire her more than she'll ever know. Despite how much she's been through, the pain and horror at the hands of her stepfather, her mother, our enemies today, she's still holding on. Sometimes her grip falters and she starts slipping, but she always finds a way to hold on tighter.

Often, she'll find herself comforting me and reassuring me of my own strength. But she's wrong. God, is she wrong. I am not the strongest person she knows. It is herself. Atlas Hall, the hero of our story.

She sifts through the remaining letters, finding another to read aloud.

'I find myself watching him more closely these days. The little things he thinks I do not see but am quietly making note of.

Yesterday, I found him in his office going over records from the police. Ones I didn't know he had access too, maybe they were stolen, but I was quick enough to catch a glimpse when I brought him a tea.