An Astronomer's Guide to Falling Angels

Chapter 30

Astor paced through Lukas's dimly lit hallway, the cold air stinging his skin as he dragged his fingertips along the wall. The house was silent except for the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. It was past midnight, but sleep was far from his mind. His heart felt heavy, as if something in his chest had shattered beyond repair. He could only think of Arty — her face, her voice, the way she used to laugh, and how she would playfully nudge him when she thought he was being too serious.

As he made his way to the window, staring out into the quiet street, a memory surfaced. It was the first time he had ever seen her — long before they had even spoken.

He was twelve. It was a regular school day, and Astor had been tasked with checking the garden, ensuring the student council's project was in order. The sun was high, its warmth a stark contrast to the coolness of the plants he admired. Everything seemed normal, peaceful even, until he heard the sound of scuffling in the distance.

Curiosity tugged at him, pulling him toward the back of the school, where the building cast shadows over a secluded spot by the fences. His heart sped up as he turned the corner and saw a group of boys surrounding a smaller kid. Phillip and his thugs. Astor's breath caught in his throat, panic rising in his chest as he realized what was happening. Phillip was pushing the kid to the ground, the others laughing cruelly as the kid tried and failed to shield himself from the punches.

Astor felt frozen, unsure of what to do. His instinct was to find a teacher, someone who could stop it. But a small voice in his head, desperate and scared, urged him to move. Before he could take a step, someone else had already intervened.

A girl.

She stormed into the circle like a force of nature, her expression wild with anger. Astor hadn't known who she was at the time, only that she had a reputation — Arty. She wasn't popular, wasn't liked much by the teachers, who labeled her as troubled. But none of that mattered now.

With a sharp shove, she pulled the bullied kid to his feet, putting herself between him and Phillip's gang. The air around them seemed to thrum with tension as she challenged them, daring them to continue. Phillip looked furious, his face contorted with the kind of malice that scared Astor.

He watched, heart hammering, as Phillip lunged at her. But Arty didn't flinch. She ducked, sidestepped, and when Phillip swung again, she blocked his punch, sending him stumbling. Astor couldn't help but feel a spark of awe. Even though the fight was uneven, even though she took a few hits herself, Arty stood her ground.

She was good. Deep down, Astor could feel it — this girl wasn't the troubled, disruptive force the teachers claimed. She was brave, fierce, and somehow, in that moment, it warmed something in him that had been cold for a long time.

Phillip and his thugs eventually retreated, leaving Arty bruised but standing tall. She didn't gloat, didn't puff her chest or revel in her victory. She simply helped the kid she'd saved and walked away, as if it hadn't been a big deal at all.

Astor had been too stunned to speak to her then, but that feeling, that certainty of her goodness, had stuck with him.

Later that day, when he found himself in the administration office to report Phillip and his goons, he overheard something that made his stomach twist. The principal was talking to one of the teachers about expelling a student. Astor's heart sank when he realized who they were talking about — Arty.

"They can't keep her here. She's trouble," the principal had said, the words sharp, uncaring.

Without thinking, Astor had spoken up, his voice trembling as he interrupted. "It wasn't her fault."

The principal looked surprised, but not convinced. "She's been causing issues for months, Astor. You know that."

"She's not... she's not bad," he insisted, his voice firmer than he expected. "She just needs a second chance."