Silas steps in, not with swagger, not with cruelty, but with that same grim stillness he always carries like armor. He doesn’t speak at first. He sets something down on the chair — food, maybe, or bandages, I don’t care — and when he finally looks at me, his expression is the same as it always is. Controlled. Brooding. Watching me like he’s waiting for something to crack.
“You were dreaming,” he says.
I narrow my eyes. “You watching me sleep now?”
“You were thrashing,” he replies, ignoring the bite in my tone. “Thought you were seizing at first.”
“I’m fine.”
He leans back against the wall, arms crossed, studying me like I’m a puzzle he can’t solve. “That’s the second time you’ve said that to me when you weren’t.”
I snap then, the frustration spilling out sharp. “And what do you care? You’re the one who dragged me here. You did this. You shackled me to a wall for your brother. You don’t get to act like you’re anything but loyal to him.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t fire back. He just watches me.
“Say something,” I demand.
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Then admit it,” I press, voice rising. “Admit that the only reason I’m here is because you chose him over everything else. Admit that your loyalty means more than whatever humanity you pretend you still have.”
He finally speaks, his voice low, heavy. “You think loyalty is a choice I had? You think I wanted any of this? Roman broke me before I ever had the chance to decide who I was.”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “That’s a convenient excuse.”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s weakness,” I snap, surging to my feet, the chains clanging against the bolt in the floor. “You chose him every time you could have walked away. You still choose him. Don’t stand there and tell me you’re broken when you’re still holding the knife.”
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t raise his voice. He just looks at me, and the calm in his gaze infuriates me more than any snarl could.
“You’re right,” he says finally.
I blink, thrown off for just a second.
“You’re right,” he repeats. “I chose him. Again and again. And it killed whatever part of me could have belonged to anyone else. But don’t think for a second that means I’ll keep choosing him.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavier than chains. I don’t believe them. I don’t want to believe them. Because if I do, it means I have to admit something in me still wants to trust him, and that is a road I cannot afford to walk.
So I slap him.
My hand cracks across his cheek before I can think better of it, the sound sharp in the silence, my wolf surging at the contact like she wants to tear him open. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even raise a hand. He just takes it, slow breath through his nose, eyes still locked on mine.
The skin on my palm stings. My chest heaves. The chain at my belt rattles from the force of my movement.
And then he says it.
“I’d rather bleed for you than them.”
The words hit harder than any blow.
I stare at him, my breath stuck somewhere between my ribs and my throat. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t back down. His cheek is already reddening, but he doesn’t touch it, doesn’t move, doesn’t give me the satisfaction of seeing him falter.
I want to spit. I want to laugh. I want to tell him he’s lying. But the words won’t come.
I don’t know what to say.
8
