Page 74 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Amelia set her backpack down near her bed, rubbing her hands against her trousers, looking awkward.
“Um, I’d like to get changed,” she said, before pulling at her heavy cloak. “It’s a bit warm for all these layers.”
Silas smirked and looked around for the bathroom facility, spotting a single door. “I’ll step away for a minute, let me know when you’re ready.”
She nodded while Silas moved for the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.
He sat on the closed toilet, waiting for her. He wouldn’t mind getting changed himself. Silas felt itchy and overly warm in his heavy clothing that was meant for much colder weather.
A clatter of something was heard behind the door of the bathroom, and he heard the faint huff of frustration.
“Winslow?” he called through the wood. No answer.
Silas glanced at his own reflection and reached up to run his fingers through his windswept blonde hair, trying to fix the general disarray.
Another sound, like something being dropped and breaking.
He frowned at the door, leaning closer to it.
“Winslow, what are you doing?”
“I’m fine!” she called back, sounding strained.
He was sceptical but stayed put. Until he heard the distinct sound of pain, a gasping hiss of breath, followed by a searing pain down the centre of his own spine that he knew belonged to Amelia. Silas grimaced with the ache of it, moving back to the door, uncertainty propelling him.
“Winslow, I’m coming out.”
“Finley, don’t—”
Silas had already opened the door, his worry overtaking any sense of decorum. He froze to the spot, hand fixed tightly around the handle as he took her in.
Amelia whirled. She had been standing before a dresser with an oval mirror fixed to it, her back to him. Now she faced him, wearing her black trousers and nothing but a black bralette.
She gasped, arms flinging across her chest, but she needn’t have worried about him looking at her. Not there anyway.
Before turning to him, he had seen something on her back. Something raw and red, sharp lines etched into her skin.
Now he could see it, this time reflected in the mirror behind her as Amelia stood, chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Finley, what are you doing!” she shrieked. “Get out of here!”
Silas stared at her with mounting disbelief and horror.
“What is that?”
She hesitated, before she realised he could see her back reflected in the mirror, and she shifted away from it. “What is what?”
He released the handle and stalked forwards, anger fuelling his steps. He stopped before her and pointed to her chest. “That, what isthaton your back?”
“Finley…” Amelia said, eyes darting away as she fetched her top from the ground and held it to her chest, covering her bare stomach.
“Show me.” His demand was laced with cold fury.
She shook her head, eyes wide with what he could only describe as terror.
Silas took one more step, fixing her with a hard glare. “Amelia Winslow, turn around and show me your back.”
Her eyes flared wide.
