ATLAS OF HIS FLESH

The beat was in Pete’s bones. The studio echoed with the rhythmic squeaks of Pete’s sneakers and that of his crew against the polished dance floor.Sweat dripped down his brow, but he didn’t care. The regional competition was three weeks away, and their routine needed to be perfect. The hip hop showcase was one of Axiom Studio's pride, and he was the headliner.His crew mirrored him, following his movements and body's fluidity at once—until their music cut mid-drop.“Again?” Pete growled, turning to face the studio glass. Sure enough, the ballet class on the other side had flipped the speaker connection. Their music—something orchestral and older than God himself, drifted in, reverberating through the glass.A cluster of ballet dancers lined up, chuckling softly in their flats, eyes darting toward them like they were wild animals they had to endure.And at the center, as always, was William Whitlock. With his curly hair, sculpted cheekbones, and the smugness of someone born to look do

The world had ended two years ago, and somehow, Jesse still hadn’t died. He blamed Marcus for that. Marcus, with his stupid muscles, gorgeous face, and unwillingness to die no matter how many zombies tried to use his guts as an offal meal.They were holed up in a half-collapsed roadside motel in Nowhere, Nebraska. The sky outside was smeared with blood-red clouds and ash. Their last meal had been nearly expired protein bars and something that might’ve been squirrel or worst—a sewer rat.“You know,” Jesse said, examining the dust-covered vending machine near the cracked wall. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance this thing dispenses snacks or severed fingers, which one do you wanna bet on?”Marcus grunted, prying open a boarded door with a rusted crowbar. “Better odds than usual, I call severed fingers.”Jesse opened the outlets and sure enough there was a severed hand inside it. “Sharp intuition you have, you know if the world hadn't gone into chaos, you would have won a guessing game show.”

“And here I was feeling special.” Evan chuckled nervously, slurping a spoonful of the broth.Daniel's gaze lingered on Evan a little too long before he responded, “You are special.” “Mm…sure.” Evan added, staring down at his soup like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “You didn’t answer my question though. Why did you invite me here?”“Finish your dinner first.” Daniel watched him until Evan shifted uncomfortably on the stool.“I meant what I said earlier,” Daniel continued at last. “You were humiliated. Nobody should walk away from that without a place to go. You deserved better.”“From Liam?” Evan asked, trying to sound casual, though his voice cracked on the name.Daniel’s jaw flexed. “From everyone.”Silence settled between them, broken only by the rain and the clink of their spoons against the bowls.Evan set his spoon down, pushing the soup away though he’d barely eaten half. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know you think I’m pathetic. Showing up here. Staying

The dorm room was dark, save for the cheap lamp on Ezra's desk. The radiator hummed softly, echoing through the silence of the night. Ezra laid on his bed, curled up beneath his thick blanket, phone in hand, staring at the chatbox on his screen. _Ken_D☆ll: “So, how about we meet tomorrow at Punt Park? Sounds good?” Ezra's chest tightened as his gaze lingered on the message. His thumbs hovered above the screen, hesitating on what to type. He let his gaze drift from his phone screen to the bed across from him where his roommate Kendall laid, back facing him, and the reflection of his phone light dully illuminating his part of the room. It wasn’t supposed to go this far. Ezra had only created the fake profile—Maya—because of his undeniable crush on his roommate, Kendall. From the very first day he’d dragged his suitcase down the narrow dorm hall and stepped inside his new room for the semester, he’d been floored by what he found waiting there: Kendall Hayes. Tall, curly brown hair, br