Page 67 of At the Mercy of Midnight
She sighed, glancing away. “Finley…let’s just get through midnight, and then I’ll leave you to sober up and we can talk tomorrow.”
Silas shrugged, picking up his glass for another swig. “Can’t promise I’ll be sober in the morning.”
“Can you put that drink down,” she said, sounding cross now, and he watched her eyes flick to the clock above his mantel. “We don’t have long, and I’d prefer not to have scotch spilled all over me.”
He saluted her with the glass before tipping it back, finishing it. “It’s whiskey,” he said, his finger tapping against the empty glass before setting it aside. “Father’s favourite.”
“Finley…”
Silas looked up. There was something he might interpret as concern on her face. Except Amelia wouldn’t be concerned about someone like him.Right?
His head tilted, considering, before calmly pouring another glass. Then he whirled, stalking over to his satchel, and rifled around in it with one hand, keeping his whiskey held firmly in the other.
“What are you—”
Silas straightened, holding something out for Amelia, cutting off her question as she eyed the cracked red leather of the unmarked journal.
She sucked in a small breath, eyes flicked uncertainly to him. “Is that…?”
Silas pressed his lips together with a nod. “Yup,” he said, waving the journal around. “You found this in my tent. Had a little look inside, didn’t you?”
Amelia swallowed, her fingers fidgeting. “Yes, but I barely read anything.”
“Mm,” Silas mused, finally placing his glass down to flip open the pages. “I lied when I said I’d never found any of my father’s journals.” He didn’t look up, turning another page, his head tilting to read a passage. “This was his, from the mind of the great Orion Finley. He used this journal when we worked together on our Monolith research. I took it after he disappeared, and that was how I knew he had died in the Rift. His expedition plans were outlined in this.” Silas snapped the journal shut, a grim smile on his face. “We’d both believed the Monoliths were connected, that at the centre of their power, the Ruins…would hold answers. He wrote in here how he wanted access to Veilthorne, that it was the key. He planned to find a way to break through the wards surrounding the lost city.”
Amelia swallowed, eyes widening.
“I don’t know if he’s the reason the ward dropped, but it happened around the time he disappeared,” Silas said. “I agreed to the expedition because I wanted my own answers. About where he went…what might have happened to him.” He looked away, throwing the journal down and grabbing his whiskey for a scorching sip. “After seeing the midnight disruptions, and what happened to us with the Crawlers, I figured…he just died. Like every other stupid sod to traverse the Rift.”
“I’m sorry, Finley,” Amelia whispered.
Pity was etched into her features, Silas feeling the extra heaviness on his chest that came from her.
Silas stepped forwards. “No,I’msorry. After we were bonded, I should’ve told you about him, about what had brought me there in the first place. I just…” He paused to shake his head. “I’m not even sure I’ve processed it yet. He was my dad.”
Silence fell between them, heavy and drawn out. Finally, she said, “It’s alright.”
Silas gritted his teeth, jaw flexing.
Slowly, she took a step closer, clearing her throat and eyes moving to the clock. “If we aren’t going to make tonight about science, can we make it less painful?”
He blinked stupidly for a moment before she reached out a hand.
Right.Midnight.
Silas checked the clock, realising he had talked away the last seconds of the day, midnight coming to claim them at any moment.
He glanced at her outstretched hand, swallowing. Silas hesitated before taking it, the warm softness of her skin always taking him by surprise. They stepped closer, but he made sure to keep a distance between them.
Midnight struck, the pull inevitable. Their bodies jerked together like two magnets forced to meet. Her chest collided with his, Silas’ arm snaking around her waist to keep her steady against him.
Her soft intake of breath, the tickle of hair against his cheek. She fit against him so perfectly that he wished he didn’t have to let her go.
But he did.
Silas began to pull away, though his hand slid around her waist slower and with a firmness that wasn’t necessary, prolonging the closeness.
He was about to let her go when he felt it, stilling him.
