The apartment was small but lived-in—two pairs of sneakers by the door, textbooks stacked on the coffee table, a string of fairy lights Atley had insisted on still glowing faintly. Sunlight cut through the kitchen window, catching the dust in the air and the messy tufts of Atley's brown hair. He was already dressed for the day, green eyes bright with the usual mischief.

From the other room, a phone buzzed—probably the group chat. Lizzie and Aubrey were already arguing about where to meet for coffee. Elijah was spamming memes. Maisie, no doubt, was replying with way too many hearts directed at Atley.