Hands jammed into her sleeves and hugged tight to her body, Atlas tried not to let her irritation consume her. It had taken nearly five minutes to detangle her dark hair, and she was certain that her nose was still red from the cold. It was shaping up to be a bitter winter, and, not for the first time, Atlas wished that she’d never had to come home from the summer holiday in the Maldives. As soon as she graduated, she was moving somewhere tropical.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Perseus kept her waiting. Atlas studied the storm clouds gathering above the forrest as a few of Perseus’ teammates passed. She ignored their suspicious looks, her own face painted with disinterest. It was aggravating, really. Did they place house loyalties above their loyalty to their own blood? Why people thought she should have turned on Perseus was as much a mystery as why anyone bothered with quidditch.

A shiver crawled down her spine. Atlas frowned, hazel eyes flashing around her. She thought she had felt… She pushed off from her patch of wall, a hand moving to touch the wand against her leg. Nothing happened. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she scoffed, chalking it up to the wind. Her patience had been worn to a single thread, and she had half a mind to leave and salvage something out of this nightmare of a morning.

“Atty!” The familiar butchering of her name earned a roll of the eyes as Atlas turned. She cocked a brow at the sight of her younger brother bounding towards her. His dark hair was wind-tossed, blue eyes nearly mad with fiendish glee. It was the look he always had after he’d been flying, like he was drunk off flight. “You look cranky.”

“Astute observation,” Atlas snipped, folding her arms tightly beneath her chest. Perseus grinned brightly, looking over his shoulder to—[i]ugh[/i], Kisarigi, her least favorite person in the bloody castle. If Perseus noticed the way her expression went flat, he said nothing.

“Fancy joining us for breakfast, Miyu?” Perseus chirped. Her eyes flashed sharply, turning on her prat of a little brother.

“That wasn’t the plan,” she insisted sharply, an edge in her voice.

“Pft, plans,” Perseus scoffed, sounding eerily like her. “Plans are boring.”