Page 27

I don’t know why I even bother anymore.

The professor’s voice won’t stop replaying in my head, dissecting my work like it was trash—like I’m trash.

“Technically competent,” he’d said like it was a consolation prize. “But your work is flat. Emotionless. It lacks life.”

Lacks life. Like I’m just some shell playing at being an artist.

The words are knives, slicing deeper the longer I think about them. By the time I push through the front door of the Manor, I’m trembling, my fingers stiff from clutching my portfolio all the way home. I let the door swing shut behind me, the sound echoing through the hall, sharp and too loud, like I’m announcing my failure to the entire world.

“Hey, Little Devil,” Silas calls out from the kitchen. He’s preparing his pre-workout to go to the gym, but I don’t even glance in that direction.

I lift a hand without looking back, a half-hearted wave that I hope reads as “I’m fine, leave me alone.” My throat feels tight, the words from earlier trapped there like jagged glass.

I need to get upstairs.

I need to breathe.

I should have said something in class.

Defended myself.

Told that pompous asshole he wouldn’t know “emotion” if it hit him in the face. Instead, I sat there, mute, while he picked apart my entire semester’s work.

By the time I reach my room, my pulse is hammering in my ears, my hands shaking as I fumble with the doorknob. The second I’m inside, I shove the door shut behind me, leaning back against it like it’s the only thing holding me up.

I drop my bag by the door and kick off my boots, leaving them in a perfect line against the wall. Crossing the room, I sink to the floor in front of my desk, pulling my knees up to my chest. When my back bumps against the desk, something falls off of it. I peer around and find a bottle of my medication rolling away from me toward the baseboard.

Two weeks.

Levi has been home for two weeks.

It’s been two weeks since I remembered to take it consistently.

Or has it been longer?

The dates blur together, but the effect is obvious. My chest feels like it’s caving in, my breathing too shallow to fill my lungs. My mind is on a loop, spiraling faster with every second.

You can’t even keep this straight. No wonder you can’t handle criticism. No wonder your art is lifeless.

The bottle sits there, a small orange monument to my failure. I stare at it, willing myself to pick it up, to just open the stupid thing and take the pills. But the moment my hand moves toward it, a fresh wave of doubt slams into me.

What if they don’t work anymore? What if I’m too far gone?

The shame twists tighter, hot and suffocating. I should have this under control. I’m twenty-one, not some helpless kid. But here I am, sitting on my floor, obsessing over whether I’m capable of doing something as simple as swallowing two damn pills.

I press my hands to my face, trying to muffle the choked sound that escapes my throat. My chest burns, and my vision blurs, tears sliding down my cheeks despite how hard I try to keep them in.

A soft knock at the door causes me to jump slightly, followed by the sound of it opening. I don’t look up.

I don’t have to.

“Hey.”

I hear the door click shut behind him, then the quiet creak of the floorboards as he crosses the room. There’s a pause in his body language as he assesses my crumpled state sitting on the floor. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t demand answers, or tell me to stop crying. He just sits down beside me, close enough that his presence feels steady but not so close that it feels overwhelming.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. My breathing slows a little, but the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen. Silas shifts, and I feel him pick the bottle from the floor.

“Is this what you’re stuck on?” he asks .

I glance sideways and see the bottle in his hands. My stomach flips. He studies the label for a second, then shakes two pills into his palm. Without a word, he holds them out to me, his other hand resting on his knee.

“I can’t…” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “I just—what if?—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he interrupts gently. “I’m here.”

I stare at the pills, my hands shaking in my lap. I want to scream at him to leave, to stop looking at me like I’m broken, but the words won’t come. Instead, I take a deep, shaky breath and reach out, my fingers brushing his palm as I take them.

I stare at the pills in my hand like they’re going to grow teeth and bite me.

Silas doesn’t rush me. He just sits there, his shoulder brushing lightly against mine, grounding me without a word. It’s infuriating how calm he is, like he’s not afraid of the mess beside him.

Like I’m not scaring him away.

Finally, I raise the pills to my mouth and swallow them with the water bottle he silently slides toward me.

I still feel like I’m drowning, but the surface feels… closer now.

Silas exhales quietly as if he’d been holding his breath the entire time. “There you go,” he says, the corner of his mouth tilting up in the faintest smile. It’s not smug or pitying—just kind.

I glance at him, and he’s already watching me. His stormy eyes are warm like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in my head without prying. It’s infuriating how good he is at that. Seeing me.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I mutter, crossing my arms tighter.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some sad, broken thing you have to fix.”

“That’s not how I see you, Sable.”

I look away, focusing on the corner of my rug where it’s perfectly aligned with the floorboards.

Silas shifts closer, just enough that his knee brushes against mine. My heart stumbles in my chest, traitorous and loud, and I clench my fists in my lap, trying to steady it.

“You’re not broken,” he says quietly. “You’re allowed to have bad days, Sable. You’re allowed to feel like this. It doesn’t mean you’re any less.”

My throat tightens, and I want to argue, to push him away, but I can’t. Because a part of me—the part I keep buried under layers of stubborn independence—wants to believe him.

When I don’t say anything, he exhales slowly, his hand brushing against mine for a fraction of a second before pulling back. I hate the loss of contact, the loss of his warmth, but I don’t show it.

“You’re so damn hard on yourself. You don’t have to be.”

His words crack something in me, something I’ve been holding together with duct tape and sheer willpower. A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it away quickly like it doesn’t count if he doesn’t see it. But he does. Of course, he does.

“I miss the Silas that would tease me and push me.”

“I can still do that, Little Devil.” He sighs. “But right now, I see my girl, not my rival.”

I should roll my eyes, shove him away like I used to when we were kids and rivalry was the only language we spoke. But the fire between us isn’t made of childish taunts anymore.

And I know he’s telling the truth. He’s not trying to placate me or fix me. He’s just… here. Like he always is. Like he always has been, even when I tried to push him away, to keep him at arm’s length because loving him felt too big, too messy, too impossible.

“I don’t need you to save me.”

“You don’t need saving. Never have. You need someone who can stand with you. But you’re so damn powerful that you need all four of us, collectively, to be worthy to stand by your side. We are all here for you.”

The knot in my chest tightens, then unravels all at once, leaving me exposed in a way that feels both terrifying and freeing. I look over at him, really look at him, and I see it—everything he’s not saying, everything he’s always said without words.

“Why do you do this?” I whisper, my throat tight. “Why do you keep choosing me when I make it so damn hard?”

His hand brushes against mine again. “Because you’re worth it. Even when you don’t believe it, we do.”

The words crack through the last of my defenses, and before I can think, before I can stop myself, I reach for him. I crawl into his lap, my fingers curling around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until his forehead rests against mine.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out, the tears spilling freely now.

“Don’t be,” he whispers against my lips. “Not with me.”

His arms come around me, and I let him hold me, let myself lean into him the way I never allowed myself to with him before.