Page 62 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Silence lingered for a long moment.
Amelia blinked, face flushed and chest rising and falling as rapidly as his own. She slid from the workbench back onto the floor, reaching with trembling fingers to adjust her shirt.
“I should…” she began but didn’t finish, turning hurriedly away and grabbing the first thing within her reach, pretending to busy herself.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, heart racing. “Right. Yes. Of course.”
Amelia gestured to the weight, not looking at him. “We’ve made good progress,” she said conversationally, like the kiss hadn’t happened.
“Progress,” he echoed. “Yep.”
Silas rubbed at his mouth, adjusting his own askew shirt before reaching to run his hands through his mussed hair. He swallowed roughly, then returned to work.
They didn’t touch again that day.
But Silas could still feel her mouth on his as he returned to his notes, like a ghost of something impossible, and too late to undo.
At the end of another long day, they donned their winter cloaks, sheathed their daggers, and stepped into the frosty evening air. Amelia hugged herself as they trudged up the road towards his home. It was a long walk, the icy wind brutal against his skin, yet it was his favourite part of the day. The fresh, albeit cold air, and the glow of the arcane lamps lighting the city streets, it was undeniably beautiful, reminding him strongly of his childhood. A time of joy and contentment.
Amelia uttered a small, uncomfortable noise. He turned his head, amused to find her teeth chattering, fingers tugging her scarf higher around her face, covering her mouth.
“How,” Amelia mumbled through the fabric, “do people actually live here willingly?”
Silas chuckled, trudging his way upwards, boots crunching in the light snow that swirled around them. “We adapt.”
She scoffed. “You freeze.”
He shook his head, hiding his smile. “We endure.”
Amelia slid momentarily, righting herself before Silas needed to intervene. She then, rather sullenly, kicked at a pieceof ice, which skittered across the thin sheen of snow. “You suffer,” she moaned, shivering violently. “I swear whoever made this place must have said, ‘let’s build here, because don’t we just adore a brutal temperature that could kill you in minutes?’I swear…”
He snorted. “You would manage better if you dressed properly.”
Amelia looked to him indignantly. “I am dressed properly! I’m wearing your stupid cloak, and these gloves.”
He eyed her, unimpressed. “I’ve seen what you have on underneath.” Her mouth fell open, so he quickly clarified further. “I’ve told you about layers, and you have one shirt on under that cloak. Wear more layers; be more comfortable.”
She huffed, glancing away.
“You should feel honoured,” Silas said, earning a withering glare. “You’re getting the full Lunarian experience.”
“I’m honoured to have frostbite in each of my digits,” she grumbled.
He grinned. “If you pass out, I’ll carry you the rest of the way. Consider it Lunarian hospitality.”
“You know what? I hope you experience a summer in Ivory City, and I hope the heat makes youmiserable. I hope you sweat so much you’ll think you’re dissolving.”
Silas chuckled, hands tucking into his pockets and entering through the gates of the Finley estate. “I think I’d survive, certainly with less whinging than you’re presently doing.”
“Uh-uh,” she said darkly, sending him an evil smile. “You’d suffer, with the way you’re used to such cold. I’ll enjoy every moment.”
The thought of being with Amelia during summer in her hometown had him feeling briefly giddy. That emotion collapsedin on itself, realising that might never happen. That they might not exist come summertime.
Keeping his face neutral, he said, “I look forwards to it.” But her smile had dropped, and he wondered if she had felt his emotional whirlwind.
She looked away, towards the looming estate, but paused.
Silas stopped uncertainly. Her eyes were trained forwards, a curious tilt to her head.
