Chapter Twenty-Two — The Boy Buried Without a Name
Chapter Sixteen — The Boy Buried Without a Name
Blaine’s knife appeared instantly.
Avery still didn’t fully understand how he moved that fast.
One second he stood beside the grave—
The next, silver steel glinted beneath Silas Bracken’s throat in the dim underground light.
Silas sighed dramatically.
“You know, most people say hello first.”
“You followed us.”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t permission.”
Silas smiled lazily despite the blade resting against his skin.
The underground graveyard glowed softly around them beneath fractured green ceiling
light while poison flowers swayed gently through cold air currents.
Beautiful.
Deadly.
Exactly like everyone Avery kept meeting lately.
Silas looked past the knife toward the fresh grave instead.
“You found it faster than I expected.”
Avery’s pulse sharpened immediately.
“You know whose grave this is.”
Silas’ amber eyes flicked toward her.
“I buried him.”
Silence crashed through the ruins.
Blaine physically stilled.
Not much.
But enough.
Avery looked sharply toward them.
“Who?”
Neither answered immediately.
The underground air suddenly felt colder.
Then Blaine lowered the knife slightly.
Only slightly.
Silas glanced down at the blade near his throat.
“Aw. Progress.”
“Talk.”
For the first time since meeting him, Silas’ smile faded completely.
Not theatrically.
Quietly.
“He was Black Vein,” Silas said.
Avery looked toward the nameless grave again.
“How old?”
Silas’ jaw tightened faintly.
“Nineteen.”
Something twisted painfully beneath Avery’s ribs.
Too young.
Always too young.
“He escaped the Theater six months ago,” Silas continued quietly. “Made it almost to the
outer sectors before they found him.”
Blaine’s expression darkened visibly.
“They sent you.”
“Yes.”
The answer came without shame.
Avery watched Blaine carefully then.
The assassin looked almost angry now.
Not violent anger.
Something heavier.
Older.
“You killed him?” she whispered.
Silas finally looked at her directly.
“No.”
That surprised her.
“He asked me not to bring him back.”
Silence swallowed the graveyard.
Poison flowers swayed softly around the fresh dirt while distant water dripped somewhere
deep beneath Poison City.
Avery stared at the nameless grave.
“He didn’t want to be a weapon anymore,” Silas said quietly.
The words landed hard.
Because suddenly Avery understood.
Not just the boy.
Blaine.
Silas too, maybe.
Weapons trying desperately to become people again.
She hated how much that realization hurt.
Silas crouched beside the grave slowly and adjusted the black ivy token resting atop the
dirt.
Gentle.
Unexpectedly gentle.
“You buried him here with the poison flowers,” Avery murmured.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they survive.”
Silas crouched beside the grave for a long moment without speaking.
Didn’t perform.
For once he was simply still, which was strange enough that Avery kept watching.
“He was better than most,” Silas said finally. His voice came out quieter than she’d heard it
before. No performance in it. Just something worn down to the plain surface beneath. “He
had this—” He stopped.
“What?” Avery asked softly.
Silas touched the token on the grave with one gloved finger.
“Stubbornness. The specific kind that keeps you from becoming what they made you.” He
looked up briefly. “It’s rarer than people think. Most subjects stop fighting it eventually. It’s
easier to just become the thing.”
Avery looked at Blaine.
Blaine looked somewhere past both of them.
“He reminded me of someone,” Silas continued simply. “A long time ago. Someone who had
the same stubbornness and it didn’t save them either.”
He stood.
Adjusted his coat.
The performance returned like closing a door.
But Avery had seen the room behind it now.
And she thought she understood, a little better, why Silas Bracken followed dangerous
people into poisoned cities and called it curiosity.
The answer hit too close to Vinny’s words.
Too close to Blaine’s flowers.
Avery wrapped her arms around herself tighter.
The grief in this city kept changing shape but never truly left.
Blaine finally spoke again.
“The Theater knows about this place now.”
Silas looked mildly offended.
“Please. They’ve always known.”
“Then why hasn’t it been destroyed?”
Silas stood slowly.
Something colder entered his expression then.
Because even smiling predators could become dangerous when serious.
“Because too many important people are buried here.”
Avery’s stomach twisted.
“What does that mean?”
Silas looked toward the endless underground graves.
“The Black Vein Program lasted generations, darling.” His voice softened strangely. “The
city would collapse if people learned how many bodies built it.”
Silence.
Rainwater dripped softly from broken stone overhead.
Avery suddenly realized Poison City wasn’t built over ruins.
It was built over graves.
The thought hollowed her out.
Silas noticed her expression immediately.
“You feel things very intensely for someone raised here.”
“She isn’t numb yet,” Blaine said quietly.
Something unreadable flickered across Silas’ face at that.
Sadness maybe.
Or envy.
Hard to tell.
The amber-eyed assassin crossed slowly toward Avery then stopped a careful distance
away.
Unlike Blaine, he didn’t instinctively avoid proximity.
Which meant either he feared her less, or feared himself less.
Avery wasn’t sure which was worse.
“You know what fascinates me about you?” Silas asked softly.
Blaine stepped directly between them.
“Silas.”
“No, genuinely.” His amber eyes stayed fixed on Avery. “Most people who survive Poison
City become cruel eventually.”
Avery looked away.
“I’m not surviving very well.”
“That’s my point.”
Silas stepped closer.
Not enough to touch.
Just enough to feel dangerous.
“You still mourn strangers.” His gaze drifted toward her hip bag. “You carry ghosts like they
matter.”
The underground garden fell silent around them.
Then quietly:
“That’s rare enough to become addictive.”
Avery’s pulse stumbled.
The wording unsettled her immediately.
Silas smiled slightly at her reaction.
“There it is,” he murmured softly. “Fear.”
Blaine stepped between them again.
Protective.
Instant.
Silas watched the movement happen.
And this time—
he looked almost jealous.