Page 73 of Man of Lies

“It’s not like that,” I said slowly, feeling it out in my mind before speaking. “It’s not just about helping. It’s…control. If I’m the one handling things, then I know what’s coming, and I have a plan to fix it. Then nothing can blindside me.”

It felt shameful to admit, but Ben’s expression didn’t change. That gave me the courage to continue.

“I’ve spent my whole life preparing for the worst-case scenario. Building my day around contingencies. Shaping every plan, every habit, so I never have to feel that drop in my gut again. The one we used to get when Mom was off her meds, you know? Or when Dad dropped us off for the last time.”

Ben stayed quiet, but I felt him listening.

“And I would’ve spent the rest of my life like that—probably died like that—if it weren’t for him.”

I looked down at Silas, the man who'd nearly torn himself apart keepingmealive.

“He never asked me to hold it all together,” I said softly. “He didn’t want someone with all the answers. He just wantedme.All of me. Even the mess.”

My throat tightened.

“He taught me how to live in the moment. How good it feels to let go andliveand not worry about what comes next. Without him… I’d never have realized how many years I wasted just surviving instead of living.”

Somewhere overhead, the vent kicked on with a low mechanical groan, pushing out air that smelled faintly of bleach and plastic tubing. Recycled, processed, flavorless. It didn’t matter how often they scrubbed these places down—the smell of fear was baked into the walls.

Ben shifted beside me, arms still crossed tight across his chest, one thumb tapping against his forearm like he needed somewhere for the tension to go. “So, what now?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

For once, I didn’t try to fill the space that followed. I didn’t reach for a plan or roadmap to make it sound like I had it under control. I just let the words sit there—raw and unvarnished. Let them be exactly what they were.

It was Ben who noticed first.

He went still beside me, head turning just slightly, eyes narrowing.

I followed his gaze, and the second my eyes landed on the bed, my heartbeat surged.

Silas’s eyes were open.

Unlike the dozens of times he’d surfaced throughout the day, only to be dragged immediately under, this time was different. His face was pale and drawn tight, lips dry and cracked, one corner twitching like he wanted to talk but didn’t have the strength yet.

But those eyes—those goddamn eyes—were clear.

And locked on me.

Ben stepped back, quiet as a ghost. I didn’t even spare him a glance. The soft squeak of his sneakers on the linoleum told me he was leaving, but it was the only sound he left in his wake. The familiar silence of a man who knew how to disappear.

I kept my focus on Silas.

Nothing else mattered.

I swallowed hard past the catch in my throat. “How do you feel?”

His brow twitched slightly, like the question was stupid but worth tolerating. Then, slowly—painfully—he worked his tongue across cracked lips. His voice was ragged when he spoke, like he’d swallowed some of that gravel we’d scraped up off the road.

“Like I picked a fight with a five-hundred-pound steel bitch,” he rasped.

I barked out a mangled sound—half-laugh, half-sob. I don’t know what I’d expected, but knowing him, it should’ve been something like that.

He didn’t look away. Just kept his eyes on me, unblinking. Quiet. Like he was cataloging every change in me since he’d been unconscious. Every thought and feeling I’d shoved down deep. Despite everything that had happened, the way he looked at me hadn’t changed. Like he still knew exactly what he was looking at, even if I didn’t.

“You scared the hell out of me.” I couldn’t hold it back anymore; the fear scraped its way out of my throat whether I liked it or not.

His mouth tugged into something between a grimace and a smirk. “The pavement started that fight. You were just collateral damage.”

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