That dream again… It wasn’t the first time. At first, she had brushed it off as a nightmare, something fleeting, something meaningless. But it kept happening. And every time, it felt more real.

  In the dream, Atticus had been different. Colder. Emptier. His hands—covered in blood. If she hadn’t helped him before… would that have been his future? Would he have ended up in prison for murder?

  A chill ran down her spine.

  She didn’t even realize she had been staring at him until Atticus suddenly looked up. Their eyes met. For a split second, something flickered across his face. Then he frowned.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Clarissa jolted as if caught red-handed. “Ah?”

  His voice snapped her back to reality, and she quickly straightened. “N-Nothing. Just… thinking about the past.”

  Atticus didn’t press further. Instead, he picked up his tableware again and continued eating.

  Clarissa let out a breath and changed the subject. “Is it good?”

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s good.”

  Then, silence. A strange, heavy silence.

  Clarissa hesitated, then, recalling something from a few days ago, finally spoke.

  “Atticus, you should go back to school.”

  His action paused. Then, slowly, he resumed eating, saying nothing.

  Seeing his lack of response, Clarissa sighed and tried again, this time more gently. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m serious. You can pay me back after you finish your studies and start working. I’m really not in a hurry.”

  This time, Atticus did look up. His eyes locked onto hers, unreadable.

  “…Why are you helping me?” His voice was quiet. This is the third time.

  Clarissa blinked. She had no answer.

  At first, Clarissa had wanted nothing more than to keep her distance from him. But somehow, she always ended up right there—watching, stepping in.

  First, it was those older kids picking on him. Then, it was the debt collectors banging on his door. And now…

  It was strange. Her mind kept flashing with memories of him—memories that weren’t even in the book. And judging by Atticus’s expression, he had no idea about any of it.

  His life was miserable in a way that made her chest feel tight. Clarissa wasn’t sure why she kept helping him. Was it just coincidence? Or did she actually pity him? If she said that out loud, though, he’d probably snap at her.

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  Just as she struggled to find the right words, Atticus looked away and muttered, “Forget it. Just go. I want to rest.”

  “But…”

  Clarissa had the nagging feeling she was missing something—something important—but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Under his steady gaze, she hesitated, standing there awkwardly.

  Then, suddenly, he smiled. It was fleeting—just a soft curve of his lips—but for some reason, it hit her like a thousand butterflies bursting into flight.

  “What?” His voice was light, teasing. “You planning to stay and watch me sleep?”

  “No—no!” Her face burned as she scrambled to her feet, grabbing the tray in a rush.

  “Then have a good rest,” she mumbled, practically fleeing the room. “I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning.”

  That night, as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, she finally remembered—

  She’d wanted to convince him to go back to school. But somehow, the conversation had veered completely off course.

  Damn it. Atticus was so damn stubborn.

  .......

  The next morning, Clarissa was jolted awake by her alarm.

  She had an early class, and even though she was still half-asleep, she forced herself up, ate a quick breakfast, and packed another portion for Atticus.

  When Clementine saw her preparing an extra meal, she raised an eyebrow. “What’s this? Not full yet?”

  Clarissa waved her off. “It’s for Atticus.”

  Then, before Clementine could react, she grabbed her bag and rushed downstairs.

  Just as she was about to knock on his door, it swung open. Atticus stood there, freshly dressed, looking noticeably better after a good night’s sleep.

  “You’re up. Here—eat while it’s hot.”

  She handed him the tray. On it were steamed buns, porridge, and a few side dishes.

  Atticus hesitated for a second but eventually took it. “…Thanks.”

  Clarissa nodded, slung her bag over her shoulder, and started walking.

  But before she could get far, she heard footsteps. She turned just in time to see Atticus—now holding two buns—stride past her.

  In just a few steps, he had already overtaken her, his lean figure disappearing around the corner in an instant.

  Fast. Clarissa blinked. Where the hell is he off to in such a hurry?

  ......

  At school, Clarissa barely had time to settle in before she was summoned to the principal’s office.

  Inside, waiting for her, were Dorian and June.June stood stiffly, chin raised, barely disguising the sneer in her expression.

  Clarissa ignored her. The principal, however, was blunt—cold and to the point.

  “Clarissa, the issue with June was just a misunderstanding. She’ll apologize, and we’ll put it behind us. I don’t see any need for further punishment.”

  Clarissa didn’t respond to him. Instead, she turned her gaze to Dorian. “…Did Lyra ask you to say that?” It made sense. Lyra was too soft-hearted. There was no way she’d just abandon her only friend.

  Dorian, lounging on the sofa with his usual air of quiet arrogance, gave a slow, knowing smile.

  “Lyra doesn’t want to make things stiff.” His voice was smooth, calculated.

  Clarissa narrowed her eyes. “Stiff? Why? She’s being punished, isn’t she? That’s what should happen. Or are you saying she doesn’t deserve it, Mr. Dorian?” She tilted her head slightly, voice laced with sarcasm. “You really do have a soft spot for Lyra and her little friends, don’t you?”

  Dorian studied her. They’d grown up together. He knew Clarissa’s situation wasn’t great, and honestly, he had no real reason to make things harder for her. Besides, she hadn’t caused Lyra any trouble lately, so he figured he’d extend her a little grace.

  “Clarissa,” he said smoothly, “June messed up this time, I get it. But I can compensate you—whatever you want. Just do me a favor and let this go. She’ll apologize, and we’ll call it even.”

  In his mind, it was simple. Clarissa had always followed him around as a kid, always listened to him. He was certain that, as long as he asked, she’d agree without question.

  So before she even had a chance to respond, he shot June a pointed look.

  June huffed but reluctantly stepped forward, rolling her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Clarissa’s gaze was ice-cold. “That’s your apology?” she asked, voice dripping with mockery. “At least kneel and kowtow.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” June’s voice pitched in outrage.

  Clarissa didn’t even blink. “June, you don’t get to talk back. I said kneel.”

  June’s face twisted in fury. “You—Clarissa, you actually dare—!”