Page 81 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“We’ve made some significant discoveries,” Silas said, steering the conversation back to safer waters, “but not all of them are for public consumption.”
Demetrius raised an eyebrow, interest piqued. “Ah, secrets. How intriguing. I respect that, truly. But should you ever decide to share, or if you need assistance in furthering your research, don’t hesitate to call on me.”
There was an undeniable weight in his words, and Silas felt a sudden, sharp need to be rid of him. His interest felt too calculated, too directed.
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Amelia said amiably, while Silas’ chest ached with her unease, “thank you.”
Demetrius’s gaze flickered between them before his smile widened, taking a step back and bowing slightly in mock deference. “Of course. Until then, I trust you will continue your work with the same enthusiasm. The Rift holds more than anyone can imagine. I look forwards to your presentation.” He gave a subtle wink before turning, his long coat trailing behind him like a shadow.
When he was out of earshot, Silas exhaled, the tension in his shoulders slowly unwinding.
“What was that?” Amelia muttered to Silas.
He didn’t immediately answer, eyes following Demetrius’s retreating figure. When he spoke, his voice was low, laced with caution. “I don’t trust him, Winslow. There’s something off about him. It’s like he…knew.” The last words were soft, only loud enough for her to hear.
“I don’t either,” she admitted, eyes shifting uneasily around the crowded room. “We need to be careful…I can’t help but sense we’re in dangerous territory right now.”
Silas nodded, jaw tight. He turned his head, finding the back of Demetrius’ head, eyes narrowing with growing suspicion. “If he’s a scientist, then I’m the King of Veilthorne. But I think we’ve just made ourselves a target.”
Silas stood beside the podium, arms folded, watching Amelia present their findings. It was a familiar sight by now. Her voice steady, authoritative, outlining their discoveries with precision. She was in her element, speaking on the ancient runes of the Gemino tribe, the unstable magic they’d uncovered, and the midnight chaos that had led to the Rift Crawlers' attack. He had heard her deliver presentations countless times over their career, but today felt different. The room was heavier, more expectant, filled with the weight of scholars and curious minds.
She spoke eloquently, hand poised over a map of the Rift, pointing to runic symbols they had found etchings of.
It wasn’t long before something changed.
Silas saw it instantly, before anyone else in the room seemed to notice.
Her hand faltered mid-air. The words she had been saying, the ones she knew by heart, hung in the air unspoken. Her breath caught in her throat, a hitch that made her voice falter.
For a second, Amelia looked like she might crumble under some unseen weight, her confidence cracking.
Silas’ gaze narrowed, perplexed by the abrupt change in demeanour.
His heart stuttered behind his ribs. He couldn’t place it at first, but something was very wrong, something far more personal than the lecture or their findings. It was the way her eyes flickered nervously to the back of the room, where theshadows fell heavier, as if a presence had appeared that only she could feel.
He followed her frightened gaze, and he saw it.
At the back of the crowd, standing behind a group of scholars, was a familiar face.
Two familiar faces.
Her parents.
Silas’ stomach twisted into a tight knot. Amelia’s posture was rigid, like a startled animal. The colour had drained from her face, leaving behind a stark whiteness. Her eyes darted to them, then away, but the damage had been done.
She was frozen.
Her lips parted as though to speak, though the words caught somewhere in her chest, strangled by the sudden, overwhelming panic that surged through her. Silas experienced it flooding his own chest, cloying his emotions. He saw the tremor in her hands, the quickening of her breath, the way her shoulders hunched as if trying to physically shrink away from all the eyes in the room.
She was having a panic attack.
It took him a moment to process it, never having seen Amelia like this. She was always so composed, focused. He had seen her face danger, seen her face uncertainty, but this…this was different. The way her chest heaved, the way she couldn’t steady her breath.
Silas’ heart faltered, eyes flitting to the back of the room, at the people standing there. Amelia’s parents. They looked unchanged from what he knew, from what their portraits hanging in the Spire looked like. Cold, stern, as they always had been. Highly regarded academics, but never the warm, welcoming kind.
But to Amelia, Silas sensed they were the source of something much darker, and he had a sinking feeling he knew what that might be. He burned with a dreadful understanding.
His thoughts raced as he realised how little he truly knew about her past. He had learned the surface details. The brilliance, the fierce determination…but not this.
