Amalia Romano is sixteen years old now. Still a dancing prodigy, she lands herself a photoshoot for a magazine that'll help her get to where she wants to be.
It seems like everything's going perfectly fine. Her grades are booming, she has a nic...
I wake up in my bed, only vaguely remembering being carried up to it last night. A yawn slips out from my mouth as my head convulses with an ache. I sigh and bring my fingers up to rub the pain away, grabbing my phone from the bedside table.
There's a few messages from Archer waiting for me. I click on his name, and as I do I realise that today is the last full day he'll be in Oxford; tomorrow he goes—tomorrow he leaves me forever.
I inhale a small breath as the screen switches to our chats, beginning from last night:
ARCHER: I called your dad for you.
ARCHER: You okay?
ARCHER: Oh yeah, you probably don't have your phone. Sorry.
ARCHER: I'll see you tomorrow, hopefully. Goodnight, I love you.
I frown, typing my response.
ME: Sorry I didn't see this.
His reply is instant, like he's been lingering on my contact and waiting for me to see his messages.
ARCHER: You don't have to be sorry. Are you okay?
ME: Yes, are you?
ARCHER: I'm fine.
ME: Do you wanna come over today?
ARCHER: I want to, but I have to pack up the rest of my things.
ME: I can come help?
His response is—again—immediate, and that makes me smile.
ARCHER: Okay. I'll come pick you up.
ME: I need to get ready. See you in forty minutes?
ARCHER: See you then.
ME:
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I turn my phone off and climb off the bed, walking toward the door. I'm about to go downstairs when I get the urge to visit Silas, so I turn and walk into her room.
I push the door open, immediately looking at the bed, only to find her on the floor next to it. My eyebrows draw together as confusion swirls within me, overtaking the sadness consuming me before. I walk over to her, and she looks up at me as though she's only just realised I'm here.
