An Astronomer's Guide to Falling Angels

Chapter 12

Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains in Astor's room, casting soft, muted shadows across the floor. The weight of exhaustion kept him tangled in his sheets, his body heavy, refusing to rise. He lay on his side, his back turned to the door, listening to the faint sound of footsteps approaching. His housekeeper entered quietly, her steps careful and soft, as if she knew how fragile the atmosphere had become in his life. Without a word, she crossed the room to where his phone sat on the bedside table, a daily ritual that Astor had grown accustomed to but never liked.

He didn't move. He didn't acknowledge her. He just pressed his face deeper into his pillow, wishing for the world to disappear around him. The familiar ache in his chest returned, sharp and relentless, as he heard her click through his messages. Mrs. Darling's orders were strict: no contact with Arty. And every morning, the housekeeper would check to make sure those orders were followed.

"I'm sorry, Master Astor," the housekeeper said quietly after a few moments, her voice carrying a note of genuine regret. "I know this isn't right."

Astor didn't reply. He didn't have the energy to. Instead, he gave a small nod without looking up. The housekeeper lingered for a second, perhaps hoping for more of a response, but eventually, she slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Alone again, Astor exhaled shakily, his heart feeling as though it were being squeezed in a vise. How long could he endure this? The constant surveillance, the isolation, the suffocating pressure to be someone he wasn't. His throat tightened, and his eyes stung, but he refused to cry again. Not this morning. Not anymore.

Meanwhile, across town, Arty jolted awake with a start, her head lifting from the uncomfortable angle she'd fallen asleep in on her desk. Papers were scattered around her, her laptop dimmed from inactivity. She groaned, rubbing the back of her neck and blinking against the sunlight spilling through the window.

"Great," she muttered to herself, realizing she must have passed out while trying to come up with a plan. She stood up, stretching her sore limbs before heading to the kitchen. Grabbing a packet of instant noodles, she began to prepare a quick breakfast, her mind already drifting back to the problem at hand: Mrs. Darling's phone.

She knew the unknown number had to belong to someone with influence, someone with access to information about Astor and his friends. Not just anyone could have sent those pictures to his mother. Arty frowned as she stirred the noodles absently, her thoughts racing. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became that this wasn't just some random troublemaker—this was someone from their world. Someone with connections. That narrowed the list of suspects considerably.

Arty's train of thought was interrupted when she heard the unmistakable sound of a truck pulling up outside. Her father's truck. Her pulse quickened, and she immediately grabbed her school bag, moving swiftly toward the door. She peered through a crack in the window, watching as he climbed out of the truck and made his way toward the apartment.

Without missing a beat, Arty slipped out the back door and ducked behind the corridor, keeping out of sight until he passed by. She held her breath, staying completely still until she heard the door to the apartment creak open and slam shut behind him. Only then did she let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Once the coast was clear, she straightened up and hurried down the street toward school, her mind still racing with a mix of frustration and determination. She'd have to figure out her next steps carefully. No room for mistakes.

At school, the usual buzz of students filled the halls as Arty made her way toward her locker, lost in thought. As she passed by a classroom, however, she heard a commotion—a familiar sound that made her pause mid-step. A fight. She sighed deeply, rubbing the back of her neck. She should have expected it.