We end up back at Mugshot because apparently there's nowhere left to go. I think I spend more time here than at my sister's house. There's something comforting about combining coffee with unhinged writers at this time of the day.

There's no line when we come in. Henry smiles at me. "Hey, Luna," he says before asking if I want my regular drink or if I'm taking risks today.

"The usual," I say, trying to avoid Kal's glances.

"Are you on the first-name basis with everyone here?" he asks. "For a second there I thought your life was pathetic, but your friends with Frank the doorman, Henry the barista and . . . ."

"Kal the mailman," I finish for him. "Though you did a bad job the first time. Couldn't even place that letter in my locker."

He laughs. "I thought it would leave a bigger impact on you," he says. "It's a shame I'll never get to put any of this into my works."

We sit at my regular table in the corner and close enough to see Henry and admire the muffins until I break down and decide to get one. When you know the barista as well as I am, it's hard to ask for another one, especially when he knows about Atlas's passing. Though sometimes I tell him my sister is sleeping over and I'm getting her breakfast. He never seems to think twice about it.

"For your information, Atlas and I used to come here a lot. Henry went to college with us, but he dropped up because his parents couldn't afford to pay for his education anymore," I say, "It's harder to talk to him now after everything. He even came to the funeral to pay his condolences."

Kal looks away, clearing his throat. "I can only imagine what this must be like to you," he says. I watch as he takes a long sip of his drink, pretending to me be busy while he figures out what to say next. "So what did you two do here all the time?"

"We write together," I say. "He writes articles for websites, which pays pretty well. Sometimes he makes book reviews, but that's mostly for fun."

"So you're the real writer?"

I shrug. "He read a ton of books and tried to make a living out of writing reviews, so he knew what made a book unique and what didn't. His advice was always valuable."

Kal is quiet for a moment, thinking. "I don't know if I could let someone help me write like that. Sure I'd get an editor if I was planning on publishing, but I don't like knowing that others have more input on my books than they should."

"It's not like that. Atlas knew this job wasn't what I wanted—it still isn't. I want to write books, Kal, and not sit in an office for eight hours a day. I've been working on the same novel for two years now, but nothing's come out of it." I pause, thinking. "He wanted to help me because I always knew what I wanted and yet couldn't reach it."

"What did he want?"

I think about this for a second. Atlas was easily satisfied. He's not the kind of person who makes a grand plan. This didn't help since neither of us was making money. I was living mostly on my parents' inheritance and whatever I got from my job—which wasn't that much. "Atlas was really good in school, so he got a scholarship and took English Lit. He's been working as a TA the whole time and he was trying to make a career out of his reviews."

I smile at the thought. Atlas looked so happy. He just came home one day and decided he was gonna stop his job hunt and focus on furthering his blog and getting it out there. He was hesitant at first because he knew we would soon need money, but I assured him that we'd make it. "This apartment is perfect," I said. "We can't move after all the work you put in." And I meant it. We could've lived there forever if it meant that Atlas would find a job that made him happy.

"You never thought of writing something different?" Kal says. "On your own."

"I wrote a lot of books on my own before all this mess, but now I feel like I don't have anything good to say."

He parts his lips. I can tell he has something to say, but he just shakes his head and takes a sip from his coffee.

Every time I try writing something else, I see her in my dreams, wondering why I haven't been writing about her.

Her name is Lee Woods. I can still see her with short blonde hair and big brown eyes. It's a middle-grade novel. I don't know why it is that I've chosen this age-group. It's just felt right to me. Light-hearted and adventurous, yet still different from anything else I've read.

I have different drafts, different versions of the story. We initially thought it would be a series.

"How many publishers have you sent it to?"

I look up, noticing the way his eyes bore into mine. With a little shrug, I see the look on his face seeming slightly angry. "I told you I've been working on it for two whole years. Atlas wasn't always helping me on it, not until I broke down and asked for his help. He didn't even want to read it because he thought I couldn't take his honest opinion," I say. "After everything, it's our life's work. I can't bear the thought of sending it to a publisher, not if I know there's a chance it'll either get rejected or altered so much that none of the essential parts of it remain intact."

"Kill your darlings," Kal said, an irritated look on his face. "It's the first writing lesson you learn.

I think about it for a moment before shaking my head, discarding the thought completely. "Kill Atlas? I don't think I can do that."

"You're only behaving this way because you're attaching this book to Atlas, but it's not the same thing. He would want you to move forward and let him go. Not to dwell on his death and never make anything of yourself."

"This is exactly what we're doing here, Kal, going into that woman's house and trying to solve this puzzle."

"How can that be the same thing, Luna? You won't publish your book because Atlas helped you write it. The reason we're searching for facts in the first place is so that you can get closure."

Looking away, I try to hold in the tears. It feels like Atlas is being mentioned more and more these days. It doesn't feel like I'm getting over him. In fact, I feel worse nowadays with everything that's been going on. It's hard to do think about anything else. When I try to steer my thoughts away from Atlas, I end up thinking of college, which was where my life peeked, and my mind inevitably goes back to Atlas. It's like he's waiting in a corner inside my mind, expecting me to think about him. When I don't, he makes me feel a little guilty. It's like, he's dead and I shouldn't just forget him and move on as if he's not there.

How could I possibly do that after all that we've been through?

"Luna. I didn't mean to—"

My phone buzzes, making me jump. The text is from Eleonora. She wants to make sure I'm going to her gallery opening in two weeks. "Please don't bail on me again," she writes. I'm actually a little excited about it. It'll take my mind off things and I still have to make up with Olive anyway. I can't stand knowing that I've upset her again.

"What's wrong?"

"My sister has this gallery opening this Friday, and she's making sure I'll show up this time."

"You have a sister?"

"Eleonora. She's an artist," I say. I'm still upset, but the sooner we deal with this, the sooner this thing will end and I won't have to see Kal anymore. "By the way, what are we gonna do now? About Wanda?"

Kal's smile turns into a smirk. "Don't worry about that. I have a plan," he says, but I'm already starting to worry.