Lilith was already seated by the time Isabelle and Damien found her—slouched over a barely touched bowl of soup, chin resting on her palm, eyes somewhere far away.
"Damn," Isabelle muttered, setting down her tray. "You look like someone ran over your sketchbook."
Damien slid into the seat across from her. "Or like she finally opened her inbox and saw the assignment due list."
Lilith didn't laugh. She just blinked slowly, then stirred the soup once without tasting it.
Isabelle frowned. "Hey. You okay?"
Lilith shrugged, eyes still low. "Joanna didn't show up yesterday."
Isabelle blinked. "Wait—she didn't?"
"You left early with Damien," Lilith added softly. "But… Jo didn't show up at all."
Damien leaned back in his seat. "Seriously? Jo's been vanishing during lunch too."
Isabelle tilted her head. "No more sudden appearances in the hallway either."
Lilith nodded, her fingers now tracing slow patterns on the table.
"She used to… you know, give me her pieces. The stuff she composed. Just sometimes. Between classes. I didn't ask—she just... gave them."
Damien glanced between them, quiet now.
"She hasn't given me anything in days," Lilith continued. "I know she's finishing them. I can see the updates on the shared folder. It's silly. I just got used to it."
She didn't look up, but her voice wavered just enough to hear what she wasn't saying.
Isabelle exchanged a glance with Damien.
"She used to wait until I finished class," she added, almost like a confession. "Then pretend like it didn't matter. Like she didn't care if I liked it or not. But now…"
She didn't finish the sentence. Just went quiet again, poking at her soup without tasting it.
Isabelle's smile dimmed. "Okay, yeah. Something's definitely off with her."
"Suspicious," Damien said, dragging out the word like a detective on a bad cop drama. "We've been ghosted."
Damien folded his arms. "So we all agree: Joanna is up to something. We storm her studio?
"Make her write you a breakup piece," Isabelle joked.
Lilith blinked. Then, softly—softly—she laughed.
That's when the familiar hurricane—Joanna—kicked open the cafeteria door, sauntering in like she hadn't been missing lunches all week. The moment cracked, like ice under pressure.
"Miss me?" she grinned, plopping down beside Lilith with a plastic-wrapped muffin.
Damien narrowed his eyes. "We were just planning your funeral."
"Closed casket," Isabelle added. "Too suspicious."
"Very tasteful. HA.HA.HA," Joanna deadpanned, unwrapping the muffin.
"You've been MIA," Damien said. "What gives?"
"Just… work," Joanna replied breezily. "Projects. Professors. Bumping into people. Dying of boredom."
Lilith tilted her head. "Bumping into people?"
Joanna took a loud bite of muffin. "Yeah—chairs. Doors. I don't know. Some dancer-boy with… ridiculous abs. Anyway!"
Isabelle sputtered on her orange juice.
Lilith froze, eyes going wide like a startled deer. Her whole face turned the color of a ripe peach, blooming all the way to her ears.
Silence.
Damien lowered his fork with a thunk.
"I'm sorry. A what now?"
Joanna stood up way too fast. "I've got… stuff. Important muffin stuff. And also—uh—my danc—guitar. Yeah. Totally real. Not fake at all!"
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "That's the worst lie I've ever heard. You're not even trying."
Joanna grabbed her bag. "Lie or not, I'm late for it. Later!" Spun around—then paused. Just for a second.
"Lili," she said, turning halfway back. Her voice was quieter now as she hovered awkwardly beside the table. "Hey. Got a sec?"
Lilith blinked up at her. Quiet, guarded.
Joanna shifted on her feet. "I know I've been kind of… not around. Wasn't ignoring you, swear. Just... brain fried. And drowning in stuff."
She held up her phone and wiggled it like proof. "I still made something, though. It's a rough draft, but—I didn't forget. Wanted you to have it."
Lilith's eyes flicked to the phone. Then to Joanna. "Okay."
Joanna relaxed slightly. "Okay like you'll listen, or okay like you won't curse me out for ghosting?"
Lilith cracked the tiniest smile. "Both."
Joanna grinned, then slid the phone onto the tray like it was a peace offering. "Cool. Track's in there. Pretty headphones only, obviously."
She gave a single nod towards the lavender headphone set resting loosely around Lilith's neck.
Lilith glanced down, then back up. "Obviously," she repeated, voice soft.
Joanna backed away, relieved. "Cool. Great. Gotta go—muffin to finish, tracks to rebuild. Byeeee."
She darted off, dramatic as ever.
"She's glitching," Damien said. "Like a raccoon caught mid-heist."
Isabelle popped a slice of apple into her mouth. "No, she's dodging. Definitely hiding something."
Lilith didn't say anything at first. But after a beat, she exhaled softly—almost a laugh.
After lunch, Isabelle had nudged Lilith and Joanna off in the same direction—just a casual "go catch up" and a not-so-subtle smile.
Lilith had looked better already, with a little color back in her face as they wandered off with headphones and half-finished muffins.
Isabelle didn't follow. She figured they needed the moment.
Instead, she lingered near the campus gardens, curled up beneath a rustling tree, her knees tucked up and a well-worn copy of The Lightning Thief open in her hands.
The sun was warm on her arms, and the breeze tugged at the corners of the pages like it was curious too.
She flipped the page, then paused. Smiled.
She'd forgotten how fun this book was—pure chaos, sarcastic teenagers, and mythological monsters.
Then—
"You hiding from me, or just sick of my face?"
Isabelle looked up.
Damien stood nearby, one hand in his pocket, a half-eaten protein bar in the other. His sketchbook peeked out from under his arm.
"Definitely hiding," she replied, not missing a beat.
He sat down beside her anyway, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. "That's rude."
She tilted the book toward him. "Forgot how fun this is. I used to read these under my desk during high school."
"…No way."
The way he sounded made her head jerk up.
Damien stood there, half-stunned, half-grinning, eyebrows raised like he'd just discovered a unicorn.
"You're reading Percy Jackson?"
She blinked, then slowly lifted the book. "Is it that… weird?? Why do you sound personally attacked?"
He dropped his bag, still grinning. "Because I spent my entire middle school life obsessed with that series."
A small smile tugged at her lips. "Really?"
A beat passed, quiet and sun-dappled. Damien shifted on his feet, then took a hesitant step closer. He scratched the back of his neck, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "...Yeah," he said, barely audible. "Really."
She closed the book gently. "I didn't know you liked reading."
"I don't talk about it much," he admitted. "Most people didn't really get it."
There was a pause. A soft wind passed through the leaves above.
She watched him. "You don't talk about books much."
"There's a lot I don't talk about." He shrugged, glancing off toward the trees. "Used to get teased for it. For reading too much. For, you know… being nerdy. Sensitive.
His lips twitched, but he didn't meet her eyes.
One guy said I looked like a 'girl who lives in the library.'" He smirked a little, dryly. "That stuck way too long." It wasn't quite a smile but an attempt to keep in his emotions.
Her smile faded—not out of pity, but because she recognized that kind of memory. The kind you laugh off so it doesn't sting as much.
He hesitated, picking at the seam of his sleeve. Then, quieter: "My dad always said reading was for people who had nothing better to do. 'Girls and dreamers,' basically."
He laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Isabelle's fingers curled slightly around the edge of the book. "That's…really harsh."
Damien gave a small shrug. "It was easier to pretend I didn't care. I mean—God forbid I liked something that didn't win me a medal or a résumé line."
She didn't press. Just stayed quiet with him.
Then she nudged his elbow. "Well. For the record, I think dreamers are kind of …cute, sometimes."
Damien glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting, just barely.
Isabelle hesitated, then smiled—tilting the book toward him, her gaze soft.
"You wanna come book-hunting with me sometime? There's this place I'm planning to go near the east gate. You'd probably find half the old series there, worn to hell."
"… You're serious?"
She nodded. "You, me, and some Greek myths. But you're buying the snacks."
He exhaled slowly. Then a chuckle. "Okay. Yeah. I'd like that."
Just for a moment—one second tucked between the breeze and the trees—he looked like a kid who'd just been handed something he thought he'd lost a long time ago.
Then he said, a little quieter, "Thanks. I've wanted to read these for a long time."
She glanced over, catching the way he looked at the book in her hand—not like it was just paper and ink, but like it was a door he hadn't known he was allowed to walk through.
Damien smiled like a kid who'd been waiting years to be invited in.