“Do you have any wishes?” she asked gently.
He didn’t answer imdiately. Instead, he turned to her and asked quietly, “Have any of yours?”
Clarissa looked at him for a mont, her eyes glowing under the soft lights of the Christmas tree. Then she smiled.
“Of course.”
Atticus didn’t say anything more, but he couldn’t stop staring at her lips as she spoke.
Atticus’s eyes narrowed slightly, a thoughtful, searching look flickering within them. From everything he’d heard, Clarissa’s deepest desire had always been Dorian—her ex-fiancé.
So he asked without thinking, his voice low, “Do you… still like Dorian?”
Clarissa let out a laugh, soft and a little incredulous. “Pfft…”
Reaching out, she lightly tapped the tip of his nose with her finger, her tone half teasing, half amused. “You’re still a kid. Do you even understand what it ans to like soone?”
Atticus wasn’t fazed. His expression remained serious. “Then… do you?”
“Of course not.” Clarissa leaned back, folding her arms behind her head as she sighed. “I wish I could stay as far away from him as possible. Don’t bring up his na on Christmas—such bad luck.”
A while back, Phoenix and she ran into him by accident. The way he looked at her… it was strange. Like she’d done sothing to him again. Like she’d hurt him or Lyra or who knew what. It was… uncomfortable.
Her voice trailed off, and she shifted on the couch, lying down and gazing at the ceiling. “Mom’s not doing great these days. My only wish now is for her to stay healthy. I just… I want more ti to take care of her.”
Her words pulled sothing soft from Atticus, his body relaxed just a little.
Clarissa tilted her head, eyeing him curiously. “What about you? Got a wish?”
She was genuinely interested. That even the so-called villains might’ve once wanted sothing simple. Sothing sweet.
Maybe he’d say he wanted a new hoodie, or the latest sneakers. If so, she thought to herself, she’d make sure he got them. That’s what sisters—or whatever they were—did.
But Atticus didn’t answer right away. He just stared at her, and for a mont, there was sothing unspoken in the space between them. Sothing quiet and burning.
And then he looked away. “Wishes don’t co true if you say them out.”
Clarissa blinked. “Excuse ? Then why’d you make say mine?”
She sat up and tried to coax it out of him—teasing, pushing, even resorting to light threats—but his lips stayed sealed.
Just then, fireworks exploded outside the window, lighting the sky with bursts of color. Midnight had struck.
Clarissa instantly forgot about everything else. She jumped up and grabbed his arm. “Co on! Let’s watch!”
She pulled him to the window, where the lights of the fireworks lit up the sky like falling stars.
Clarissa’s eyes sparkled as she stared up at the show, her face aglow with wonder and childlike joy.
But Atticus wasn’t watching the sky. He was watching her.
In the dark night, her profile was lit softly by the flickering bursts of color, and there was sothing so beautiful, so achingly alive in her eyes. As if a whole garden of wildflowers blood behind them.
He stood beside her, silent and still, heart quietly coming undone.
......
Ti passed in a blink—three years. Atticus was fifteen now.
The crisp chill of early autumn hung in the air. The sky was clear, but the wind bit cold through Clarissa’s thin long-sleeved shirt and cropped pants. She shivered slightly as she hurried toward the school entrance, realizing she was running later than expected.
Stopping at the gate, she gave the security guard a polite smile. “I’m here to see Atticus. He’s a second-year.”
The guard adjusted his glasses, then did a double-take. His face lit up. “Hey, I know you! You’re the model on the poster in the east corridor!”
Clarissa let out a helpless laugh. “That photo’s ancient. You guys haven’t swapped it out yet?”
“We’re due to update it soon. Got a new model lined up, actually—but she’s not half as stunning as you.”
He handed her a visitor’s notebook and gestured politely. “Sorry, school rules. You’ve got to sign in first.”
“No problem,” she replied with an easy smile, taking the pen and starting to jot down her na.
Just then, a commotion erupted near the edge of the campus.
Beyond the gate, a narrow alley opened into a row of osmanthus trees, the scent of them thick in the breeze. The noise seed to be coming from that direction, voices carrying on the wind.
Just outside the alley, next to an overflowing trash can—an area conveniently out of reach of security caras—a group of disheveled boys lay sprawled across the ground, their bodies bruised, trembling as they stared at the figure standing in the middle like he'd risen from hell itself.
“A-Atticus… enough, man… stop…” The voice ca from a skinny boy with glasses, curled up in a corner. His mouth was bloodied, one lens cracked, the fra hanging awkwardly off his face.
Atticus stood above them, breath steady despite the fight. He was dressed in a white basketball jersey, his dark hair clinging slightly to his forehead with sweat. Tall—already pushing six feet—and cut like a statue, he radiated a sharp, restrained violence. His features were sculpted and precise, with the kind of icy, aloof beauty that made people hesitate before speaking.
And ever since he showed up in this city’s youth basketball league, his team had dominated—every ga, every match, every rival crushed. His talent was terrifying, and so was his temper.
Today, a rival team had hired a few street thugs to ambush him before the semifinals.
Clearly, they had no idea who they were dealing with. Now they lay on the ground with swollen faces and busted lips, their groans mixing with the sll of iron and sweat.
Atticus dusted off his jersey with an annoyed flick, his voice cold and disinterested. “What a waste of ti…”
One of the gang mbers, seething and humiliated, pulled out a small knife. As Atticus turned his back, the guy lunged—
But before the blade even reached the air between them, Atticus moved.
He grabbed the man's wrist mid-swing. A crack echoed through the alley as the bones gave way. The boy dropped the knife and scread, crumpling onto the pavent.
His expression didn’t change as he stepped on the guy's chest, pinning him like an insect under his foot. His gaze dropped, lips curling just slightly. “Go tell your boss—he won’t be scoring anything this afternoon.”
He leaned down. “And if I ever see any of you near again…”
The others could barely breathe, let alone move.
Just then, another student ca sprinting around the corner, gasping for air. “Atticus! That really pretty sister—she’s here!”
Atticus froze. The storm in his eyes cleared instantly, like a switch had been flipped. “When did she show up? Where is she now?”
“Just now—she’s at the school gate. Probably heading to the court.”
Without another glance at the gangsters, Atticus kicked the one under his foot aside like trash.
“Rember what I said,” he growled. “Get lost.”
And they did—stumbling, dragging each other away, too scared to look back.
Atticus checked the ti. No way he could walk all the way around campus now.
So instead, he backed up two steps, launched off the trash can, and vaulted over the wall in one graceful move. He paused for a second, smoothing his jersey, checking for blood or dirt. Once satisfied he looked clean, he took off at a run.
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