Chapter 12

Atlas took the tablet from his assistant, his fingers tightening around its edges as the screen flickered to life. Even through the digital display, my presence struck him like a tidal wave. His pulse pounded as he scrolled through the images I had taken—breathtaking landscapes, golden sunrises, endless oceans stretching far beyond the horizon. Every shot was a masterpiece; not just in composition and color, but in something deeper. Each frame held freedom.

Atlas stared at a particular photograph—one of a cliff's edge, the world vast and infinite beyond it. For a long moment, he didn't speak. He didn't know if he was remembering the promise he once made—to take me around the world—or if he was realizing how far I had already gone without him. His throat tightened. "Book me the next flight to A-Country," he ordered, his voice clipped and urgent. "And keep tracking her location. I want updates every hour."

Atlas arrived at the hotel where I was staying. He stood outside my door, his hand raised, fingers curled into a hesitant fist. He couldn't knock. His entire body was rigid, every breath uneven. In the end, he didn't knock. He sank to the floor outside the door, resting his back against the cold wood. And he waited through the night, through the long hours of silence, his thoughts a chaotic storm.

When morning came, the sound of footsteps broke his trance. A hotel staff member had arrived to clean the room. Atlas lifted his head, his muscles stiff from remaining in the same position for so long. "She's already gone," the housekeeper said casually, unlocking the door. "Left early this morning. Didn't check out, though."

Atlas felt as though someone had dumped ice water over his chest. He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly, his exhaustion finally catching up to him. The address his assistant provided led him to a public park. He sprinted through the streets, his heart hammering, his breath ragged. He had to find me. If he were even a second too late—if I disappeared from his sight again—he didn't know if he'd ever see me again.

Then, his footsteps faltered. By the fountain, I stood with my back to him, sunlight dancing off the lens of my camera as I reached up to feed the pigeons. I laughed softly as a bird flapped too close, my face tilting toward the sky.

Chapter 12

For a moment, Atlas forgot how to breathe. Happier than he had been in years. I spun lightly with the birds, my hair catching the breeze, my smile so bright it was almost blinding. It was the kind of smile I had never worn when I was with him.

Atlas felt something in his chest tighten and twist, a deep ache in his ribs. He wanted to be happy for me. And yet, he wasn't ready to lose me. After a long moment, he finally forced himself to move. Not to my side, but to the opposite end of the fountain. Close enough to be near me, far enough to keep his distance.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, as if he had forgotten how to use it. "Celeste," he murmured, "I'm sorry."

I didn't reply.

Atlas let out a slow, shaky breath. His fingers curled against his knees, his entire body tense. "I thought… I thought that what I felt for you was guilt," he confessed, his tone full of self-loathing. "For so many years, I kept telling myself that. That every time I held you, every time I cared for you, every time I needed you—it was guilt."

"But then you left," his voice cracked. "And I realized that I love you."

He exhaled a shaky breath, his head tilting back, his eyes burning. "I know you'll never forgive me," he continued. "I know I've lost the right to ask anything of you. But please…"

He swallowed. "Let me stay by your side."