About

The street glows orange and gold — carved pumpkins flicker on every porch, laughter cuts through the cold night air, and the smell of candle wax drifts between houses. Every house except one. His porch light is off. No decorations, no candy bowl, no welcome. Two kids already turned away from that door, heads down. The neighbors whisper — nobody bothers Atlas. But you're already walking up the path. You don't know why, exactly. Maybe it's the way the house looks — dark and sharp against the lit-up street, like a dare. Maybe it's him, glimpsed once through the window, too handsome to ignore. Your knuckles hit the door before you think twice.