Page 118 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Amelia’s chest rose on a slow inhale. Her hands finally relaxed against him, releasing the bunched sections of his shirt to place her palms flat against his chest. One of her hands smoothed upwards until her fingertips were brushing at the collar, and then touching the skin at the base of this throat.
Silas felt his breath catch at that small touch, so simple, so light. It felt like everything.
He wanted to kiss her.
To shift forwards and finish what they had barely started before they had been attacked. She felt so warm and real before him, her soft skin, and delicate features so pure and lovely in the moonlight. Amelia was so beautiful that it made him ache.
But it felt wrong in the wake of what had just happened, and of what they faced.
He pulled away slightly, just enough to take a steadying breath. His hand slipped from her neck to rest gently on her shoulder.
“Are you alright?” he asked, voice low.
Her expression shifted quickly. She ducked her head, her hands leaving him to press the heels of her palms hard against her eyes. “It felt so real.”
Silas hesitated, then quietly asked, “what did you see?”
She dropped her hands. “The Realm,” she said, barely audible. “It…it felt like it was pulling me, dragging me into it. Hands had me, they were everywhere.”
His stomach turned cold.
Amelia swallowed hard, looking up at him. “Then it changed, and I saw…well, I saw Lyana again.”
“What happened?”
Her gaze slid away. There was hesitation in the curve of her mouth, the heaviness in her silence.
“Winslow?” he prompted. “Did she say anything?”
Amelia exhaled shakily, eyes fixed on the blanket draped across her legs. “She said her partner, Bane, had a journal. It explains the ritual. The one we need to complete to…fix all of this.” Her eyes lifted to meet his, dark and uncertain. “It’s about uniting the Monoliths. Lyana said they’re the original bond, that they belong together. We’re just echoes of that connection. Completing the ritual will reunite them, break the cycle of pair bonding, and restore magical balance.”
Silas didn’t answer right away.
His father’s research, the old theories about the Monolith’s being linked…all of it had been right.
And somehow, he and Amelia were meant to be the ones to complete that connection.
He met her eyes again.
“Did she say anything else? About how the ritual works?”
Amelia hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was small. “It requires a sacrifice. For us to become one, like the Monolith’s. One of us survives, the other is sent to the Realm.”
Silas stilled. The words sank in slowly, like icy water slipping into his veins.
He didn’t know what scared him more, that Demetrius had been right, that the sacrifice was real and necessary, or that Amelia might be the one left behind to face whatever came next. He could feel her grief like it was his own.
Because he knew.
Amelia was the siphon. Silas was the sacrifice.
They looked at each other for a long moment, the lingering silence as loud as their inner turmoil.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll get you some water,” he murmured, rising from the bed.
“Wait,” Amelia said, voice sharp with urgency. She caught his wrist, stopping him mid-step, just before it happened.
Midnight. A small thing Silas had managed to forget.
