EIGHTY-FIVE | A WRITHING SEA

Atticus

Night had passed back into morning by the time Atticus heard that Lily had gone.

Dew speckled the grass, sparkling in the last silver sliver of moonlight. A moon that was still a little over three weeks away from growing full again. It was a haunting sight, one that made fresh wounds rip open in his heart. Atticus stared at it helplessly, hovering above the horizon line, mere moments from dropping below it. Caught between this second and the next, he thought, as was he.

The moon fell. Struggling to comprehend the swelling tide of emotions writhing desperately in his hollow chest, Atticus stalked across his grounds. Remnants of the Mabben decorations still hung in the trees, not magically disposed of as they usually were. They made him think of Lily, and his heart – his whole body – ached with the loss of her.

He’d saved her. She’d betrayed him.

Collapsing against the base of the same tree she’d sat by only a matter of days ago, he curled his hand around a bunch of grass and ri