The sky was too pretty for the end of the world.

Julia stood on the rooftop garden, hugging herself. The stars above her lightened up the night sky, twinkling like glitter on a dark canvas, and the moon burned full and bright. No clouds blocked the celestial objects from her view, yet when Julia exhaled, she could see her breath in the chilly, evening air. A gust of wind blew, and she held her scarf still against her skin before it could unravel. There was no music nor noise drifting into her ears, and when she closed her eyes for a moment, she could almost imagine the stillness and quiet of the end.

It was not yet the end, though. Julia knew that. This past year, she had developed the habit of eavesdropping on her father's meetings, and that was what she had done two weeks ago. Every scientist she had heard was adamant that they still had time. They had droned on and on about different calculations and timelines, but they had all agreed the world was not yet ending. At the close of their reports, they had echoed one another: they still had time. Eight months, at most.

Julia had asked her parents about that meeting. They had not given her answers. Instead, they had only smiled and reassured her and then asked to keep what she had heard between them. Of course, being the 'perfect' daughter of a political family, she had done exactly that. She was used to secrets, used to keeping things quiet for her family's and her future's sakes. Still, from that day on, someone had always kept her away from her father's meetings. She had only realized that something had changed when she had been told to pack up her belongings and then escorted to a waiting helicopter. Her mother had told her the truth then: they only had a week or two before the end came.

Tonight, the president had addressed the nation, and the secret was finally out. Julia had exhaled, feeling the weight being lifted off her shoulders. She may have been surrounded by people who knew, but the guilt of knowing while millions of people did not had kept her awake at night.

That guilt had been replaced by something else, though. As she had watched the president speak to a camera, Julia had tried to imagine how the rest of the nation – the rest of the world – felt. She couldn't, though. Not really. She was safe, or as safe as possible under these terrifying circumstances. Not because of what she had done or what she could do, but because of the family she had been born into.

After the address, she had slipped away from her family and had gone up to the rooftop. As far as she knew, no one else spent their time there. It had become her new refuge – a place where she could enjoy the peace and quiet she had lost.

Julia wrapped her jacket tighter around her, rubbing her arms. She knew things were bound to get worse, but she missed the life she had before she came here. She missed waking up to the sound of birds chirping. She missed the privacy of her own suite. She missed her friends dragging her to parties.

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At the thought of her friends, it felt like someone had reached into her chest and twisted her heart. Just before coming up here, Julia had seen Olive being whisked to some place by her mother, the president's chief of staff. She had yet to see her other friends. Julia liked to imagine that they were also safe, that they were holed up in some ridiculously secure compound like she was, but she knew that was not entirely true. After all, there were not enough places for everyone.

She sighed. Some part of her wished she could go back to the start of summer, to a time when a vision of her future was not as bleak as it was now.

The creak of a door interrupted her thoughts, and a boy with brown curls stepped onto the rooftop. Julia stilled as his eyes met hers. His gaze was cold and unsympathetic, and she flinched. There was a time when his face would light up whenever they saw each other, but now they had become what their families had always thought they should be.

The boy turned to leave, and Julia wanted to pick up a flower pot and throw it at him. She understood why he always left, though. What he knew was bad enough. If he found out what had really happened last summer, she was almost certain there was no mending their relationship anymore, but she was so tired of him running away. All Julia wanted was to rewind time, to go back to when they were okay – to when the whole world was okay.

Julia huffed and then turned away from the boy. "You don't have to leave just because I'm here, you know."

The sound of the door opening stopped, and Julia waited. There was a click that seemed to reverberate across the space, and the sound of his boots tapping against the concrete echoed. After a while, there was quiet again, and Julia could feel his presence inches beside her.

"I thought you wanted me to leave."

Julia wanted to correct him, to tell him that was the last thing she had wanted, but she could not find the words to do so. They had become like strangers passing by. Actually, it was even worse. They were like sworn enemies who only had steel-tipped words and icy glares reserved for each other. They had become their families, and Julia nearly let out a bitter laugh at that realization.

The stillness echoed throughout the whole roof. A minute ago, it was freeing, but now it seemed to be suffocating her. The silence between them was not calm and comfortable like it used to be. No, this silence was charged and fraught, and Julia wondered why Rome had listened to her and stayed. She wished it was because he missed her at least a little bit because she missed him so much that it hurt.

Julia swallowed and turned to him. "I'm sorry."

Rome refused to look at her. "You tell me that every time we see each other, but sometimes I wonder if you really are."

With those words, he glanced at her, and there were hints of sadness and disappointment hidden beneath the anger and exhaustion in his eyes. For a moment, she wondered if she should have told him everything, but she did not think she could handle him learning the truth.

So she shut her mouth and listened to the sound of his footsteps and the click of the door, and when everything was still and quiet again, she buried her face in her hands and collapsed onto the floor.