Atlas
The morning breeze blew sharp against my cheeks as Liam and I sprinted down the stone path leading from the east wing. The sky was still a pale indigo, streaks of rose blooming along the horizon as dawn threatened to break over school towers. It was quiet and still dark after the run, our breaths rising in faint clouds of steam as we slowed to a jog near the central courtyard.
“Let’s cut through the rose garden,” Liam said, wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt.
I grunted. “No.”
“Oh come on,” he groaned, grabbing my arm like a toddler begging for sweets. “It’s closer to the dorm. My legs are dead, man.”
“Roses make me itch,” I growled. The damn pollen always clogged my nose, and the smell reminded me of funerals – stale perfume and rotting petals.
“Please,” he
