Atlas's POV
I woke up to the sound of waves and the sharp scent of salt in the air.
But she wasn't next to me.
My heart kicked hard in my chest as I sat up, brushing sand from my shirt. The space where Blair had been lying was empty—only the deep impression in the sand remained.
For a second, a cold, irrational panic ran through me.
Then I saw her.
Standing by the edge of the ocean. Her knees bare, black dress fluttering in the wind. One hand in the pocket of her jacket. The other holding a cigarette between her fingers.
She hadn't left.
I stood and walked toward her. The sun wasn't fully up yet, just a soft blush across the water. She hadn't noticed me yet—her shoulders were slightly hunched, like the weight of the world sat somewhere between her spine and her ribs. Her hair was a mess, loosely pinned up, still brushing down her back like a wave of ink.
I stopped beside her.
"You said you didn't have any money."
She didn't look at me. Just exhaled smoke toward the sea.
"I don't," she said. "This was in my jacket."
Her voice was raspy—like leftover smoke and something quieter.
She took another drag, then glanced at me from the corner of her eye.
"You gonna give me a lecture, professor?"
I didn't reply. I just looked at her. At how the orange sunrise caught the curve of her cheekbone. At how tired she looked, but how hard she was still standing.
"No lecture," I said. "Just making sure you're still here."
Her lips twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.
"Why? Thought you'd be relieved if I disappeared."
"I wouldn't be."
She turned fully to me this time, eyes sharp but glassy, like she didn't know whether to bite or break.
"Careful, Reed," she murmured. "You're starting to sound like someone who gives a damn."
I stared at her, wind tugging at both of us, smoke curling between us like a secret.
"Maybe I do," I said.
She blinked. Looked at me like I'd just handed her a loaded gun and dared her to shoot.
Then she laughed. Bitter and beautiful.
"You're so screwed," she whispered.
And tossed the cigarette into the ocean.