43. Lilith
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
I had my clothes. I had my phone. Molly had been regularly texting me updates on Katniss, complete with timestamped photos and a rundown of her meals, like my beardy was a celebrity under a strict wellness contract.
And yet, I still felt like shit.
I stared at my phone, rereading Molly’s last message.
Molly
Your little demon is thriving. Just inhaled an entire bowl of greens and then fixed me with a look like she was sizing me up for a casket. I’m scared.
A picture followed—Katniss, curled up on her heat mat, looking pissed off.
I missed her. I missed normality. This penthouse was insane. But I was starting to feel the effects of not moving. I glanced toward the massive windows stretching across the living room. I wanted to be out there. Not in here.
“I want that report in my inbox by 10a.m. No exceptions.”
What?
I turned, expecting Silas to be looking at me, but his gaze was focused somewhere else.
“No, we can’t push the launch back another week,” he continued, tone sharp as he pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge. “Tell him if he wants to keep his job, he can find a solution that doesn’t involve screwing up our entire timeline.”
Oh .
He turned slightly, caught my eye, and held up a finger. ‘ One sec.’
I flopped back down onto the couch, grumbling. Mr. Tech was in work mode.
Whatever. I rolled my eyes and stared up at the ceiling, tuning out his conversation, trying not to think about how restless I felt.
A minute later, the couch d ipped beside me, and he stretched out, pulling his stupid earpiece off and tossing it onto the table.
“That thing makes you look like a fucking asshole.”
He turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
I pointed at it. “The earpiece. The whole, ‘I’m too important to hold my own phone’ thing. Very asshole behaviour.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Hey, I’ve got to work from home. Needs must.”
“Asshole.”
He lunged at me, fingers skimming my ribs, and I shrieked, twisting away, laughing despite myself. “Stop! You—fucking—asshole—”
He flopped down beside me, tugging my legs over his lap and smoothing his hands over my shins, tipping his head toward me. “What’s up? You’re extra sharp today.”
I toyed with the hem of my sweats, staring at the ceiling for a long second before finally saying, “I need to leave.”
His fingers stilled and I felt his attention shift completely onto me, even before I looked at him. “Leave?”
I rolled my head toward the side, meeting his gaze. “Not permanently. Just… air. I need air.”
He didn’t say anything, just watched me. So I kept going. “Only for a little bit. To remember that I exist outside of—” I gestured vaguely around us. “I’ve been here for what—nearly a month? I need out.”
He let out a slow breath, dragging his thumb idly along my calf. His gaze flickered over my face before he smirked. “Go get dressed,” he said. “Something warm.”
My brows shot up. “Are you serious? Where are we going?”
He just squeezed my knee and stood up, stretching. “It’s a surprise.”
I sat up straighter. “Silas.”
He was already walking away. “Hurry up, sweetheart. Meet me at the elevator in five.”
I ran to the bedroom. Leggings. Boots. One of his hoodies—because, let’s be real, mine weren’t nearly as comfortable, and I was already committed to stealing all of his shit anyway. I shoved my hair into a ponytail, barely spared a glance in the mirror, then booked it back toward the elevator.
He was already waiting, leaning against the wall like he hadn’t just set a five-minute deadline on my life.
I skidded to a stop next to him, slightly out of breath— thanks, asthma. “Okay. Where are we going?”
His hand moved to the panel. I expected him to press down. But he didn’t. He pressed up.
I frowned. “Huh? ”
He glanced down at me, smirking. “We’re going to the garden.”
“The garden?”
He nodded.
“Silas…” The words were slow, careful—the kind of voice you use when you’re explaining something simple to a particularly stupid man. “Gardens are usually on the ground.”
His smirk deepened. “Not this one.” The elevator opened and he stepped inside. “Come on. Let me blow your mind.”
I joined him, ready for the ride, but the elevator only went up one floor. I squinted at the doors. “That was anticlimactic.”
He huffed a laugh. “It’s been too windy to bring you up here. But today’s not too bad.”
A second later, the doors slid open, and— oh, absolutely the fuck not.
It wasn’t a rooftop. It was insanity. A garden. A literal, actual, fully landscaped garden. On top of a goddamn skyscraper.
The air was sharp with the lingering chill of evening, the sky and clouds awash with streaks of fading gold and dusky purple as the sun bled low on the horizon. I could hear the faint rustling of trees— trees , on a fucking rooftop—and the hum of the city far, far below.
Too far below. My stomach churned. I took one hesitant step forward. It was beautiful. Genuinely. Lush greenery, stone pathways, benches tucked beneath archways of ivy. It was like someone had scooped up a piece of a park and just… dropped it on top of a building.
The view? Insane.
But also? Absolutely horrifying.
If I stood on my tiptoes and reached up the tiniest bit, I was sure I’d be able to touch the clouds. Or worse—fall straight through them. “Holy shit.” My voice came out a little strangled. “This is way too high up to be experiencing fresh air.”
“Told you it would blow your mind.”
I wasn’t panicking. Nope. Absolutely not. This was fine. Totally. I just… happened to be standing like a badly posed mannequin that was vaguely considering its odds of getting blown off into the abyss.
Silas must have noticed. “Breathe.”
I didn’t. Mostly because I was too busy trying not to throw up from the sheer existential horror of how high up we were with no walls.
Finally, I turned, just enough to glance at him. He was holding out his hand in offering. “You’re safe,” he said. “You don’t have to go near the edge. Just stay with me.”
I flexed my fingers and reached for him. He led me across the rooftop, away from the dizzying drop, and toward a small loveseat beneath an archway of ivy.
The moment I sa t, he stepped away briefly, flicking on an overhead outdoor heater nearby before sinking down next to me.
Neither of us spoke as we sat there, looking out at the skyline. My head was mush. Too much had happened. Too much was still happening. Here I was, sitting on a rooftop I shouldn’t even have access to, holding hands with someone who was once a shadow.
I stared out at the city, chewing the inside of my cheek as a question that had been sitting on my tongue for too long bubbled its way up my throat. “Can I ask you something?”
His thumb brushed over my knuckles. “Sure?”
I turned my head toward him, watching the way the light wind tugged at the loose curls around his temple. “What started all of this?”
His brows pulled together slightly. “What, the garden?”
I let out a laugh. “No…”
His fingers tightened around mine, but he didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t entirely sure he was going to.
I wet my lips, looking back at the horizon. “I just… I want— need— to know what started all of this. I know you’ve already said it was to keep me safe. I know you’ve said it was because I needed someone…”
He exhaled slowly through his nose before speaking. “Do you remember the gala?”
I blinked. The gala? That night felt like a lifetime ago. The ballroom. The chandeliers. The masks.
“The Graves and Everly gala?”
My pulse tripped over itself for a second. I wasn’t sure what he was bringing that up for—but then something shifted, the question slowly unfolding into an answer I already knew. And it clicked.
“Wait,” I said slowly, turning back to him, watching the way his dark eyes flickered in the fading light. “You’re Graves?”
His fingers tightened around mine, and he nodded. “Finn is Everly.”
The puzzle pieces tried to rearrange themselves in real time. Fragmented shards of memories rushed back to me. The weight of Clark’s hand on my waist. The tension. The discomfort. The crushing pressure against my wrist.
“I suggest you let go of her. Now. And walk away.”
That was the last thing I’d heard before I blinked and found myself on the roof.
Away from Clark. Away from the noise. Smoking a cigarette I didn’t even want.
And there was someone there. A man. He asked if I was okay, he sat with me, talked to me, stayed.
He didn’t crowd me, just existed there on the edge of my world.
And at the end of the night, I was home. Safe.
God, I felt like I was breathing underwater.
The man who sto pped Clark.
The man on the roof.
“… It was you?”
He nodded, but he didn’t say anything. Just sat there, watching me, waiting.
Waiting for me to react?
Waiting for me to pull away?
Waiting for me to tell him this changed things?
Maybe it should’ve. Maybe I should’ve been mad. But… shit.
How had I not put two and two together? How had I not realised that everything had started right after that night?
I inhaled sharply, shaking my head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This whole time? All of this, everything—it all started that night? You were keeping me safe from him ?”
His throat bobbed. “At first.”
“And then?”
“And then I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
This fucking man, I swear to God. My breath stuck somewhere between my bones. I stared at him, at the way his mouth pressed into a tight line, like he was bracing for impact.
“No,” I said, glaring into him.
His eyes widened.
“No more of that look,” I said, shaking my head. “That guilty, shameful look like you’ve done something wrong. You haven’t. You—” my heart was aching so bad. “Thank you, you big stupid behemoth of a man.”
His lips parted slightly, breath hitching.