Page 92 of At the Mercy of Midnight
They fell into an uneasy silence.
She cleared her throat. “How did you get on?” Amelia asked. “Anything to report?”
Silas was quiet as he chewed, weighing whether to tell her. There was no real reason not to, and yet, he hesitated.
“Uh, yeah,” he said finally, avoiding eye contact, “something caught my eye that I had missed in the journal.”
“Oh?”
He nodded, spooning up another bite.
“Care to share?” she asked, a sharp edge to her voice, just enough to suggest he was grating on her nerves.
With a sigh, Silas set the bowl aside and stood. He crossed the room to find the journal, flipping it open as he returned. Sitting back down beside her, he skimmed the page once more, his heart beginning to thrum again. He turned the book to her, tapping the cramped, slanting text running up the margin, faded and almost illegible.
She arched a brow at him but took the journal, her fingers brushing his as she pulled it into her lap. Her eyes scanned the page, and in his mind, Silas recited the words alongside her:
“The phenomenon of pair bonding has long been misunderstood. It is neither a matter of fate nor of romantic entanglement. The magic does not choose their bearers based on love or longing, but rather on resonance; on two minds, two souls that call to each other in ways unseen. It is a bond of compatibility, of understanding, but it holds no inherent sway over the heart.” Citing ‘Legends of the Realm’ by Trella Thumbwig, 1263.
Her fingers tightened around the journal. She blinked once, then again, rereading the lines in the way he had. Her face gave away nothing. Silas watched as she slowly closed the book and set it down beside her, eyes trained on the floor.
She picked up her bowl again, stirring the contents with her spoon, but not moving to eat.
The silence stretched out too long.
Finally, she let out a sharp breath and lowered the bowl again. Amelia met his gaze. “So…what am I supposed to takefrom that?” Her voice was tight, unsteady. “It’s not the bond that’s making me feel—” She cut herself off, jaw snapping shut.
His eyes stayed on her face, steady. “You thought it was?”
“Didn’t you?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I knew you did. But no, I never really believed it was the bond, not for me.”
She leaned back on her hands and stared past him, thinking. Then she straightened abruptly, pushing her fingers into her temples, visibly agitated. “I don’t know. I just…thought the bond amplified everything. That what I was feeling wasn’t really mine.”
Silas’ throat tightened. He’d suspected as much, though hearing her say it stung in a way he hadn’t expected. Amelia had always shied away from closeness, always deflected whenever the tension between them rose. But now, hearing the truth, seeing her this exposed, somehow made it worse.
“Did you really think it was all the bond,” he asked quietly, “that none of it was you?”
She dropped her hands to her knees, her flat gaze meeting his. “It would have made things simpler.”
He exhaled through his nose. “Simpler. Right.” Silas looked away, voice clipped. “Because the alternative is too inconvenient?”
Her eyes snapped to him. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Then say what you mean,” he countered, voice calmer than he felt.
Amelia glanced up to the arcane lamp above them, which flickered in the silence like it shared their turmoil. When she spoke again, her voice was softer.
“I convinced myself it was the bond,” she said, “that it would fade once we were out of this. That it wasn’t real…so I could just ignore it.”
He nodded slowly, jaw working. Of course she had. She was a scientist, needing proof. She didn’t trust easily, especially not with things she couldn’t control. But still, a part of him had hoped.
“Well,” he said, “now you know. It was never the bond.” His voice dipped, low and certain. “It was always you.” His eyes traced over her face. “It was always me.”
The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible.
Amelia looked at him, really looked, something flickering in her gaze, shifting.
