Page 72 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Hands were on his shoulders, and he could hear Aurora speaking next to him, desperate and afraid.
“Chip,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Ivory…”
He groaned, collapsing into the ground, shoulder hitting the cobbles hard.
Silas didn’t hear Aurora’s response but there was commotion around him. Footsteps pounded on cobbles. Horses whinnied, making aggravated noises. It was all he could focus on while his body curled in on itself.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt like being consumed with pain for days when Aurora finally pressed a stone into his hand.
“Go!” she yelled into his ear.
It was all he could manage to shift his thumb and press into the Waystone chip before he was flying, pulled away from the cobbles in front of his home.
He landed on his back, surrounded by soft, green grass.
He gasped in a breath, the relentless ache leaving his body all at once. His lungs pulled in blessed air as he stared up at a clear, blue sky and felt the grass with his hands, trying to ground himself.
A soft sob reached him. Silas turned his head as he panted with relief.
He sat up quickly, earning himself a headrush.
His vision swam, but he could see Tempest not far away, shifting restlessly on her feet beside a slumped figure on the ground.
Two others knelt over her, glancing on with worry etched into their features.
Silas got himself to his feet, stumbling over to her. He forgot all niceties, pushing one of the strangers away before falling to his knees beside Amelia.
She lay on her back, eyes closed and lips trembling as her chest heaved with her rough breaths. Sweat clung to her forehead, pieces of her hair sticking to slick skin.
He reached for her with a shaky hand, cupping her cheek. “Winslow?”
She uttered a soft whimper, head turning towards him, eyes remaining closed. His heart thumped heavily in his chest.
“Winslow…”
“Is she alright?” someone asked with concern.
Silas ignored them, staring at her with increasing levels of panic when she didn’t respond.
“I’m here,” he said, leaning closer, “it’s alright now, you need to wake up.Winslow.”
Nothing.
He let out a stuttered breath, thumb brushing over her cheek.
“Amelia,” he said roughly, the sound of her given name foreign on his tongue, “wakeup.”
Her lashes shifted, and finally, her eyes blinked slowly open. Those dark brown eyes focused on him, and her lips parted on a soft inhale.
“Si—” her voice was rough, as though she had been screaming. She cut herself off, eyes clenching shut.
Amelia tried to sit, Silas helping her with a hand on her back.
“You’re alright,” he whispered gently, fingers absently brushing along her spine.
She looked at him again, eyes filling with tears. She collapsed into him, arms circling his neck and pulling him to her. He went without complaint, holding her close. It was a profound relief, to be holding her after the agony of being away from her, like they had been torn apart, cleaved in two, and now they were whole again.
“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed into his neck, shoulders shaking. “Finley, I’m so sorry…I had no idea…I should never have…”
