TWENTY-TWO
They wandered the quiet city for nearly an hour, walking without purpose and chatting easily until the chill had crept into their bones and, each shivering, decided they should head back to the Octagon.
They were walking up a dark street, void of people, when the subject finally came back up again.
“So…you truly think the magical bond,” Amelia started slowly, “holds no emotional manipulation at all?”
Silas glanced sidelong at her. He considered his response carefully. “Obviously we can’t be certain at this point, but no…I don’t think it does.”
A beat of silence.
“I’ll admit I wanted an easy explanation, something I could dismiss. Because if this is real…” She swallowed, shaking her head. “Then it complicates everything. And I already have enough impossible things in my life without adding you to the list.”
Silas let out a wry breath. “Glad I made the list.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Amelia said with a quiet sigh. Then she muttered, almost too quietly to hear, “you scare me, Finley.”
He blinked, thrown. “I scare you?”
She nodded. “Because I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let myself…” She cut herself off with an exasperated exhale. “I don’t want to lose myself in this whole thing. In you.”
Silas’ chest ached with the weight of her honesty.
Slowly, he reached for her hand, curling his fingers around hers.
She didn’t pull away, but she did pull him to a stop so they could face each other in the middle of the street.
“If you want me to give you space, I will,” he said gently. “If you want to pretend tonight never happened, I will…but if you don’t—” His thumb brushed over the back of her hand. “Then you can stop hiding yourself from me. Stop running.”
Amelia stared at him.
Then, just as he was about to speak, she surged forwards and kissed him.
It caught him by surprise. It wasn’t careful or hesitant, but unguarded. A kiss that felt like a question and an answer all at once.
Silas exhaled against her lips, his hands rising to cradle her face as he kissed her back.
The city was silent around them, the only sound their uneven breaths and the distant hum of arcane lamps. When they finally parted, Amelia stayed close, her forehead resting lightly against his.
“I’m done hiding,” she whispered.
Silas let out a shaky breath, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Good,” he murmured, “because I want to see everything, Winslow. I want to know every piece of you.”
The night air hung thick with the weight of their confessions, the heat of Amelia’s mouth still lingering against his.
They walked in an easy silence, exchanging occasional glances, when that silence was disrupted.
The subtle scuffing of boots on cobblestone reached his ears first, an unsettling sound that might have otherwise gone unnoticed, except for the distinct, metallic scrape that followed. The distinctive sound of a blade leaving its sheath.
Silas’s head snapped up, body responding before his mind caught up, a hand tightening around Amelia’s waist. His gaze swept the alley, searching, but all he could see were shadows, dark and formless, clinging to the edges of the cobbled street.
The only light came from a single arcane lamp hanging at the alley's mouth, casting an eerie glow over the wooden crates and scattered debris.
A chill ran down his spine, a gnawing sensation that something was wrong, creeping into his bones. His heart hammered, and before he could form the thought to move, the first figure emerged from the darkness.
Figures in dark robes, faces masked and hoods low, materialised like phantoms. The gleam of cold steel caught the dim light, swords and knives, glinting in the shadows.
Before they could react, the first attacker lunged.
In a blur, Silas shoved Amelia behind him, throwing up his arm to shield himself. Magic surged through him almost without thought, a pulse of energy burst outwards, knocking the weapon just wide of his ribs.
The attacker didn’t falter, but neither did Silas.
He twisted, elbow cracking into the figure’s jaw with a satisfying crunch.
“Run!” he barked, pushing Amelia back. “Get out of here, now!”
“I’m not leaving you!” Her voice was sharp, ragged with panic.
She ducked just as another figure swung, a blunt pommel aimed for her temple. She sidestepped cleanly and slammed a hard kick into the attacker’s knee. He buckled with a grunt, but before she could strike again, the arcane lamp at the end of the alley exploded in a shower of sparks.
Darkness swallowed them.
His heavy breaths echoed in his ears.
He could just see someone surging towards him. He raised a hand and sent another wave of raw force crashing into the attacker. They hit the ground hard, but more were already circling in. Too many.
And he could feel it, his magic was already thinning, each burst dragging more strength from him.
“Winslow, please!” he hissed, turning to her again. He could see the terror in her eyes, her quickened breaths, fists clenched.
Silas turned back to the attackers. They’d formed a loose ring, boxing them in against the far wall, but were no longer advancing. Most of them hadn’t drawn weapons, just stood in wide stances, gloved hands ready. Waiting.
They weren’t fighting to kill. They were fighting to capture.
Then his eyes landed on it. Stitched into the chest of the cloaked figure directly ahead, was a blood-red symbol. Two daggers crossed over each other, a semi-circle cradling them. He swallowed. The same symbol they’d discovered at Fabian Eros’ shop.
A sharp gasp from behind him made his stomach drop.
Silas turned just in time to see one of the attackers seize Amelia, an arm locked tightly around her waist as she thrashed against the hold. She snapped her head back, slamming into the figure’s face, but it barely staggered him. Their grip only tightened.
Before Silas could react, a heavy boot slammed into his back, knocking him forwards. He hit the cobblestones hard, pain exploding through his knees. Something firm clamped around his chest from behind.
His head whipped up, vision swimming, seeing the glint of silver at Amelia’s throat, a blade pressing into her skin.
His breath caught.
Amelia froze, her body going rigid, terror flashing in her eyes.
“Please, don’t—” Silas’s voice cracked, hoarse and useless.
“Stop fighting,” a voice spoke in his ear, low, calm, and oddly familiar. “We only want you, Silas Finley. Come with us, and we’ll spare the girl.”
The words pierced through his panic, but they didn’t make sense.
No. He couldn’t let them take her. He wouldn’t .
“You…you can’t separate us,” he gritted out, chest heaving, “it isn’t possible.”
“No need to worry about that,” the voice replied.
Someone stepped forwards. Silas caught the glint of silver before a pendant, heavy and unfamiliar, was placed over his head, dropping against his chest.
At first, he thought it was a trick, a distraction. But then it hit.
A crack like lightning inside him, silent but shattering. A tether snapped, something ancient and invisible wrenching apart. Across from him, Amelia gasped as if it had torn through her too.
He choked on the feeling, body lurching.
He felt hollow. Severed.
No longer whole.
“Take her dagger,” the same deep voice ordered. It tugged at his memory, his brain almost finding a name, but the panic swallowed it. Then his words registered, and his eyes flew open.
No .
“Wait…no!” Amelia cried.
He twisted towards her, helpless, watching as another yanked back her cloak to reveal the hidden sheath. She turned her hip to shield it, but they were faster. The hilt flashed, and her dagger was removed.
Everything seemed to stop, the attackers stilling, heads turning. A hushed reverence fell, as if they beheld something divine.
“His, too,” demanded the calm voice.
Silas couldn’t fight them off, couldn’t even lift his arms as gloved hands tore open his cloak and pulled free the golden dagger. His dagger.
It gleamed even in the darkness.
Silas clenched his teeth as it was taken, hidden away.
"Say goodbye, love," someone jeered behind him.
He spun, frantic.
Amelia stood, no longer restrained, one hand pressed to her throat and chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. Her eyes locked onto his.
"Finley—"
"It's okay," he rasped, struggling weakly against the hands holding him. “I’ll find you.”
The words felt hollow. It wasn’t okay. None of this was.
Hands yanked him upright and his body swayed, every part of him screaming to get to her, to grab her. But he couldn’t move.
“No, please, wait!” Amelia’s voice cracked, the desperation in her voice clawing at him, her hand reaching out to him.
But it was too late.
The attackers’ grip on him tightened as one more figure raised a Waystone chip, a shimmering piece of stone, and with a swift motion, Silas felt the magic pulse through him like a surge of lightning, yanking him away.
His body jerked, as if being torn from his own skin. He opened his mouth to call to Amelia, but the words died in his throat. The world around him faded into darkness, her frantic screams echoing in his ears.
He could only cling to the hope that somehow, he would find her again.