Chapter 2
Silas
I wait until the kid's a block away before I follow.
Not creepy. Just... concerned. It's past nine-thirty, raining harder now, and he's walking alone through not the best part of town. Plus, he doesn't have an umbrella, just that thin jacket with the hood that's probably soaked through already.
The note in my pocket feels heavier than receipt paper should.
Try Anne McCaffrey's Dragonflight - similar epic feel to Goodkind but with dragons :)
The smiley face kills me. Like he was trying so hard to be friendly, to connect, but didn't know how. I recognized it because I do the same thing, add unnecessary punctuation to texts to seem less intimidating, less cold.
Devin. Robin called him Dev, but his name tag said Devin.
He's been at the library for months, always reading in the reference section when I pass through.
Always alone. I'd noticed him the way I notice everyone, cataloging, categorizing, filing away.
Young. Quiet. Reads constantly but good stuff, not trash.
Clean but wearing the same three shirts in rotation.
Then today he slipped me a note about dragons and now I'm following him through the rain like some kind of stalker.
He turns onto Madison, and I hang back. This neighborhood gets worse the further south you go. Empty storefronts, broken streetlights, the kind of place people go when they don't have anywhere else.
When he stops at a building with a rainbow flag and a sign reading "Haven House - LGBTQ Youth Shelter," my stomach drops.
Fuck.
I watch him punch in a code, disappear inside. Through the lit windows, I can see movement. Lots of people. Young people. Kids, really.
He's twenty, maybe, and living in a youth shelter.
My phone buzzes. Knox, in the pride group chat.
Where are you? Missed dinner.
I take a photo of the street sign, send it.
Three dots appear immediately. Then Vaughn: Why the fuck are you on Madison at night?
Following someone.
Please tell me it's not a bail situation, Jason types.
No. Just... checking something.
Silas... Knox's message trails off, then: Get back here. Safe.
I send a thumbs up, but don't move. The shelter looks decent from the outside. Clean windows, maintained entrance, security cameras. But it's still a shelter. Still a place you go when you have nowhere else.
Devin appears in a third-floor window briefly, silhouetted against cheap blinds. Then gone.
The rain soaks through my jacket as I stand there, processing. He works full-time at the café. Robin wouldn't underpay him. So either he's saving every penny for something, or he's aging out soon and trying to get ahead of it.
Twenty years old. Who does he have besides Robin's casual kindness and whatever books he can lose himself in?
My phone buzzes again. Knox: NOW.
I turn back, walking fast through the rain. The note in my pocket is probably illegible now, ink running, but I can still see that careful handwriting, that hopeful little smiley face.
Tomorrow's Friday. He works noon to six.
I'll go back. Order the same coffee. Maybe mention I put Dragonflight on hold at the library.
Maybe ask what he's reading.
Maybe find out why a kid who should be in college or starting his career is living in a shelter and working himself exhausted to save forty dollars here and there.
The bar's warm and loud when I push through the door, shaking off rain.
Everyone's there. Knox and Toby wrapped around each other on the couch, Vaughn and Robin arguing about something while Robin gestures wildly, Jason and Ash playing poker, Ezra and Nico doing something with the bar's books.
Nico's got his laptop open next to Ezra's, the two of them shoulder to shoulder on their stools, and I catch something about NSRC case files before walking away.
They've been like that since Nico moved in, working side by side, finishing each other's spreadsheets, the kind of quiet partnership that makes the apartment down the hall feel even smaller.
The bar smells like garlic and wine and the warmth of a space where too many people are crammed into not enough room and nobody minds.
"You're soaked," Jason observes. "And you missed my carbonara."
"Sorry. Had to check something."
Knox gives me a look that says we'll talk later. I nod, grab a beer, and settle into my usual chair.
"So," Robin says, abandoning his argument with Vaughn to flop next to me. "How was the café?"
"Good."
"Just good? I make incredible coffee and you give me 'good'?"
"Really good?"
Robin rolls his eyes. "Did you meet my new barista? Devin? Kid's a genius with the espresso machine. And he reads constantly, like you. You'd probably get along."
The pride goes quiet in that way that means they're all listening while pretending not to.
"He made my coffee," I say carefully. "Seemed nice."
"Nice," Robin repeats. "Silas, the kid memorized everyone's orders in a week. He reads fantasy novels on his breaks. He's so shy he literally hid in the storage room the first time Vaughn raised his voice about something. And you're going with 'nice'?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"That you'll come back tomorrow and actually talk to him?"
I take a long drink of beer. "Maybe."
"Oh my god," Robin throws his hands up. "You're both hopeless. He spent twenty minutes today telling me about your reading habits and you're sitting here like —"
"He talked about me?"
Robin grins, victorious. "And there it is. Yes, he talked about you. Apparently you're very careful with books and have excellent taste in fantasy series."
"He said that?"
"Among other things." Robin's expression softens.
"Look, Dev's... he's had a rough time. I don't know details, but kid showed up for his interview literally shaking, like he was terrified I wouldn't hire him.
He works his ass off, never complains, and stays late reading every night because I don't think he has anywhere else to go. "
I think about the shelter, the third-floor window, the rain soaking through his thin jacket.
"I'll come back tomorrow," I say.
"Good." Robin steals my beer, takes a sip. "He makes better coffee than me anyway. Don't tell him I said that."
The conversation shifts to other things.
The weekend ride everyone's planning, Jason's new recipe experiments, whether Nico's finally going to let Ezra replace the mattress with the spring that attacks his kidney.
Knox mentions the five acres behind the bar, how the county assessor came out last week, and Vaughn says he'll clear the back fence line this weekend.
It's vague, half-formed. Knox thinking out loud, which he does more of now that there are nine people living in or orbiting a building designed for five.
But I keep thinking about Devin, about that note, about the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't watching.
About how he's been watching me read for months, the same way I've been peripherally aware of him.
Tomorrow. I'll go back tomorrow.
And maybe this time, I'll be the one slipping him a note.