Page 87 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Silas laughed again. “Wouldn’t be fair to tell you in the middle of a controlled test.”
She scoffed but let it drop.
“Do you think we could simulate the pull without midnight?” Amelia asked, voice low but tentative. “When we move apart, I feel something, like a tether pulling us together, right here.” She pressed a hand to the centre of her chest, and he recognised the feeling well. “Could we pull on that tether, to transport to each other?”
Silas paused, chewing the corner of his lip thoughtfully. “An intriguing concept. Let’s try.”
They positioned themselves at opposite ends of the apartment, just far enough that the invisible thread between them tugged faintly. Each would focus inwards, picturing that thread tightening, the distance dissolving, mimicking the midnight pull.
Minutes stretched, then thirty minutes. Concentration weighed heavily in the room, but progress was elusive. The closest they came was when Silas, overcome by a surge of desire to be near her after staring for so long, felt his body shift beyond his control, only to stumble forwards and drop to one knee.
Defeated but undeterred, they abandoned the test, turning instead to their individual magical experiments.
Amelia concentrated, attempting to move a small object with the same focus from Silas’ lab. Despite her effort, the item barely twitched.
Silas, confident from mastering the movement of both heavy and light objects, tried coaxing the arcane lamps to burn brighter. Instead, the opposite happened, the crystal dimming and dying unexpectedly. Amelia grumbled about having only one spare left as she swapped out the crystals, shooting Silas a pointed look before telling him to ‘play with something else’. A request that was, frankly, risky.
He settled on moving her couches around the room, which she wasn’t thrilled about either.
Amelia plonked down on the edge of her bed with arms folded, watching Silas rearrange the space with a stormy expression.
He tried explaining his process, but nothing seemed to click for Amelia in the way it did for him. He’d even suggested she hold her dagger while trying, but it made no difference. Silascouldn’t help but wonder if her growing frustration was only making it harder for her to connect to the magic.
They stored their daggers away in their holsters, both collapsing with weary sighs, Silas into an armchair and Amelia flopping onto her bed.
Exhausted, he grimaced while feeling Amelia’s own fatigue rippling through him. The use of magic was notably draining. He had been marking the effect in his journal but was yet to learn all the limitations of the magic.
“Finley?”
His eyes stayed shut. “Mm?”
“I’m beat and don’t fancy being woken at midnight,” she said slowly, voice carrying the weight of someone debating whether to say it at all.
He peeled his tired eyes open and turned his head, spotting her lying on her back, arms thrown upwards to cover her face, a small sliver of bare skin showing as her top had ridden up slightly.
“Alright?” he asked quietly.
She released a long breath. “I know my bed is small, but would you…would you sleep here with me? Perhaps then the pull won’t wake us.”
The room seemed to hold its breath as the request hung between them, and suddenly he felt anything but tired. He straightened in his chair, eyes fixed on her, still shielded behind her forearms.
Silas brushed his knees nervously but knew his answer before the word left his mouth.
“Yeah.”
Amelia pushed up on her elbows, meeting his gaze. “Yeah?”
He nodded once, rising to his feet. “Yeah.”
A sigh of relief escaped her as she settled back onto the bed, the tension in her shoulders easing. “Thank you.”
They prepared for bed. Silas changed into a borrowed shirt and a pair of shorts, clothes he wouldn’t usually wear to bed, but given the circumstances, he wanted to be clothed. Amelia seemed to share the sentiment, emerging from the bathroom in long pyjama bottoms and long-sleeved shirt, as if shielding as much skin as possible.
He might have smiled at the similarity if the moment hadn’t felt so heavy. Getting into bed with Amelia Winslow was achingly bittersweet. Her trust was a rare, precious gift, one that filled him with pride and gratitude. Yet being this close to her, touching her to soften the pull between them, felt strangely wrong while Amelia believed their growing connection was the bond’s doing.
He knew better.
He had harboured an attraction that had simmered for nine years.
