Page 59 of At the Mercy of Midnight
This time the hum was stronger, like a bow brushing against the string of a cello. The glass sphere slid forwards a few inches with a softclink.
Silas laughed breathlessly, triumph soaring through him.
Amelia blinked. “How did you…?”
“I don’t know, I just…reached.”
Eyes narrowed on the sphere, Amelia rubbed her hands together. “Alright. Let me try.”
He stepped back. “Don’t force it. Just reach out. Feel the energy.”
Amelia nodded, hand rising. She reached out, face creased with concentration, lips pursing.
The sphere remained still.
She tried again, and again. But nothing happened.
Her hand dropped. “It’s not working.”
Silas’ triumph faded with her mounting frustration, which he felt like a weight on his own chest. “Maybe it’s latent. Yours might behave differently.”
“Because I’m not like you?” she said with quiet frustration. “Because I’m lesser than you?”
“You’re not less,” Silas said firmly, “just different.”
She looked at him, expression flat. “You really believe that?”
Silas shrugged. “Of course. You should, too.”
They stood silently side by side, the sphere gleaming under the lab’s light. Amelia clenched her jaw, turning away.
“It’s late, and it’s already been a long day. Try again tomorrow,” Silas offered gently.
She didn’t answer, already moving for the door.
As part of their lab time over the next few days, they incorporated hours into understanding and reaching out to their magic. Silas enjoyed it immensely, while Amelia wrinkled her nose and seemed to despise the whole of it.
Silas felt his lab begun to feel more like a forge than a place of study. Heat shimmered in the air not from fire, but from the magic. His magic.
He stood, palm extended, towards a row of brass instruments lined up. Beakers, flasks, weights. With a flick of his fingers and a quiet command of will, one shuddered, then floated into the air with slow, deliberate grace.
He grinned.
It was happening faster now. Easier. Every time he tried, the power responded more willingly, twisting beneath his skin like something alive, something waiting. It sang to him.
The way the air trembled with his focus, the thrill of shaping the world without ever touching it. It was like nothing else. Euphoria curled hot and wild through his chest.
He turned, breathless. “Did you see that?”
Across the worktable, Amelia stood with her hands on her hips, brow furrowed in something between admiration and frustration.
“I saw it,” she said, tone clipped. “Go again.”
He obliged. This time lifting two objects, a small clamp, and a strip of leather. They hovered, suspended mid-air like dancers waiting for their cue.
Silas’ mouth curled. “I’m getting better.”
“You’re gettingcocky,” she replied, her voice lighter than before. “It’s unsettling.”
