Chapter 10 Silas
SILAS
The storm lays heavy over the compound, the kind that turns the whole world gray and white, swallowing sound until every movement feels louder than it should.
Snow piles against the fences, soft ridges forming along the mesh wire that Roman had strung high enough to scrape the sky.
The generators hum beneath it all, deep in the bones of the facility, but out here the noise is swallowed by the storm.
Nights like this make even this place feel muted, less like a fortress and more like a tomb. It’s why I chose tonight. The Syndicate prides itself on control, but storms don’t listen to Syndicates.
When I step into her cell, the smell of wolf hits me first. It’s sharper tonight, wilder, something restless just under her skin.
Mary’s sitting with her knees drawn up, her hair shadowing her face, but the moment I enter her eyes flick up and lock on me.
Green, cold, sharp enough to make most men stumble back.
“Get up,” I tell her.
Her lip curls. “Why.”
I toss the key onto the floor. It clinks against the concrete and the sound seems to echo longer than it should. “Because I said so.”
She doesn’t move at first, just studies me, suspicion written plain across her face.
The wolf in her is awake tonight, restless the way mine always is, and for a moment I think she might lunge.
Instead, she rises slowly, controlled, the chain at her waist dragging across the floor with a low scrape.
I undo the cuffs, then the belt, and for the very first time since I took her, she’s unbound. She doesn’t rub at the raw skin, doesn’t flex like a freed captive. She just stares at me, silent and sharp, waiting.
“You run,” I say, “and I won't stop you.”
Her brow arches. “That's a promise.”
“It’s a test.”
Her laugh comes low and bitter, like stones grinding together. “Of me or you.”
I don’t answer because the truth is both.
I turn and lead her out. The guards on shift don’t even glance our way; they’ve been fed the story already, that this is a containment drill, that Roman wants her tested.
They’ll buy it because they’re trained to.
Roman’s paranoia makes liars out of all of us, but the trick is to lie like the truth was his idea in the first place.
The old stairwell creaks as we climb, the smell of damp and rust thick in the air. Water drips from pipes, each drop echoing against stone until it sounds like a clock ticking down. Mary follows me in silence, but I can feel the weight of her eyes on my back the whole way.
We push through a steel door and step into the snow.
The courtyard is roofed with high mesh fencing, ice clinging to the wires like veins of glass, moonlight seeping through the gaps in muted silver.
Snow covers everything, softening the edges of stone and steel until the compound looks less like a prison and more like a graveyard.
The cold bites instantly, sharp enough to sting, but I breathe it deep anyway. It’s cleaner than the air inside.
Mary tilts her head back, eyes closing as she inhales. Her shoulders ease just slightly, the tension that rides her posture loosening under the weight of open sky. She looks less like a prisoner for one brief moment, more like the wolf she is.
“You could be gone by now,” I tell her, my voice rough in the quiet.
Her eyes open, fixing on me. “You want me to run.”
“I want to see what you’ll do.”
She steps closer, the snow crunching beneath her bare feet, the wind pulling strands of hair loose across her face. “You want to measure me. Like Roman does.”
That hits harder than I let show. “I’m not him.”
“You keep saying that,” she says, her tone sharp.
We walk the edge of the courtyard slowly. She drags her hand along the fence, the metal sparking faintly as she touches the live current. It doesn’t stop her. The smell of ozone hangs sharp in the cold air, and she keeps her gaze fixed on me.
“You ever wonder what you’d be if he hadn’t made you his,” she asks suddenly, her voice carrying across the silence.
“Every day.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” I say. “Because wondering doesn’t change the fact that I stayed.”
She stops, snow falling into her hair, her wolf glowing in her eyes. “You stayed because you wanted to. Don’t lie to me.”
I step closer, meeting her head on. “I stayed because I thought there was nothing else. Roman was my world before I knew the world was bigger. You don’t understand what it’s like to be bound before you even realize you could choose.”
Her jaw tightens, her hands curl into fists. “I do. You think I haven’t been used? Manipulated? You assume that I don’t know what it’s like to bleed for someone else’s cause?”
“I know you do,” I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut the night. “That’s why you don’t get to stand there and act like you’re the only one who’s ever carried chains.”
She lunges forward and shoves me, hard enough that my boots scrape through the snow and my back hits the fence. The current hums just inches behind me, buzzing like a warning. I straighten, chest heaving, but I don’t raise a hand.
“You want me to believe you’re different from him,” she snarls. “Prove it. Stop talking and prove it.”
The snow falls heavy between us, muting the world, leaving only our breath steaming in the cold. My heart hammers, the fox in me restless, the man in me burning.
“I want out,” I say finally, the words rough, torn from my chest.
Her eyes narrow, suspicion sharp as claws. “I don’t believe you.”
I take a step closer, the fence buzzing at my back, the cold sinking into my bones. “Then let me prove it.”
The words hang there, heavy as stone, heavier than the storm pressing down on us. She stares at me, searching for the lie, searching for weakness. And at last, I don’t want to give her either.