Page 62 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Elena

N o one knows how many times a soul can shatter before it's beyond repair. In my mind, three always felt like a solid number.

The first time it happens, it knocks the wind out of you.

Somehow, you manage to stand, gather the shards, and try to fit them back into place, slicing open your fingers and palms as you do.

By the time you're done, it's not quite the same, but it's close.

You convince yourself that with time, the edges will smooth over, and it'll morph into something nearly like it was before.

The second time, you're a bit more prepared and manage to breathe through it.

The pieces are smaller now, more delicate.

They break as you handle them, tiny slivers embedding in your skin, impossible to remove.

Stepping back, you have to squint a little to make it look almost like it did before it first broke. Maybe, you think, time will help again.

The third is different. What's left isn't even pieces; it's just grains of sand.

With the slightest breeze, they scatter.

Entire sections are missing now, gaps that you can never fill, and even the small piles you manage to gather are just one strong gust away from disappearing, too.

By this point, you're so exhausted that you let fate take over, waiting for the rest to blow away until there's nothing left.

And yet, I'm still here, despite having sprinted past what I was sure had to be the limit .

Even so, the pain leaves no room for anything else. I can hardly remember feeling anything but this. My heart barely beats through it.

It doesn’t help that every time I close my eyes, Jeff is there.

In every dream and every nightmare.

Sometimes it’s the last moments in the SUV, me leaning over him, hands soaked in his blood, begging him to stay.

Others, we're back at Ironworks in our old routine. Once, Peter was with me, standing over Jeff’s grave with that smug look on his face, telling me that he’s going to take everything and there’s nothing I can do to stop him.

The one that hurts the most is when Lauren makes an appearance, clutching Jeff’s lifeless body and asking me, “ How could you do this to us?”

I haven’t spoken to Lauren since the hospital, nor have I tried.

I wouldn’t even know what to say. The idea feels cruel.

She likely doesn’t want to hear from me, and she shouldn’t have to.

If anything, she should stay as far away from me as possible.

Everyone should. No matter how I try to change, I only ever seem to destroy other people's lives while I somehow survive.

I thought I was doing it right this time.

But I knew better deep down, didn't I? I could have told Silas to send Jeff away and shut down the whole idea of training before it started. That's what any good person would do.

I was just so excited to see him.

The man who gave me a place to go. Who sheltered me, protected me, who had my back. And he did. Right up until his very last breath.

Agony cuts through me as images of Jeff and Drew blur behind my eyelids. They only asked to be let in, and now they’re both gone.

Because of me.

Silas's voice startles me out of my thoughts. “Lena.” He's behind me, but I don't turn to face him. “What are you doing?”

It’s a fair question, especially considering it’s the first time in two weeks that I’m out of bed for more than just a shower. Eating has been a different story, but beggars can’t be choosers. I can’t seem to keep anything down, anyway .

He’s also probably wondering why I’m standing in the middle of the guest bedroom I stayed in as Scarlett and haven't set foot in since I came back as myself. It’s almost eerily unchanged.

The bed is crisply made, and the chairs in front of the fireplace where I once spent my days exploiting his kindness are meticulously arranged.

It's the perfect preservation of the place where I ruined everything.

I’ve never wanted to incinerate anything so much in my life.

Silas's hand slides across my lower back, a silent announcement of his presence as he steps beside me before it falls away. We stand side by side, his eyes flicking from me to the rest of the space.

Eventually, he pushes up his glasses and says, “I hate this room.”

His words pull my gaze to his profile, watching him scan the walls and furniture, likely recalling all the ways I hurt him here. Used him. Manipulated him. Poisoned everything I touched.

Though I have no right to agree because I caused it, the words slip out anyway. “Me too.”

Silas stuffs his hands into his pockets and walks forward, his head tilting as he surveys each familiar corner before finally turning to face me.

He went into the office this morning to attend some meetings, as he had several times this week, only to return home before lunch.

Though he’s dressed in one of his perfectly tailored dark gray suits, it hangs a bit more loosely than it used to.

He studies me intently, his gaze lingering on my still-damp hair. There's a softening in his tired eyes as he speaks, “It’s good to see you up.”

The sincerity in his voice echoes painfully through me. I'm acutely aware of how much I’ve complicated his life, especially with everything else he’s trying to balance.

Last night, when he thought I was asleep, he whispered his hopes into the darkness.

He held my back against his chest and wished for me to get better, begged me to show him that I’m still here.

The effort it took to keep my breathing even and stifle the sobs threatening to break free nearly crushed me .

Listening to him like that, I could finally feel the toll this is taking on him under all my grief.

I’ve been granted too many chances to live to keep wasting them like this.

So instead of sleeping, I laid there collecting every scrap of strength I could find to get my shit together.

For him, for Drew, for Jeff. For everyone who has given me chance after chance to make things right.

My smile is thin as I cross my arms over my chest, biting the inside of my cheek. “I… I’m starting to feel a little better.”

“That’s good,” he replies, though we both know I’m lying.

Silas watches me, assessing from top to toe. When he seems to gather himself, he takes a hesitant step forward, pausing to gauge my reaction. I remain still, and step by cautious step, he closes the distance between us until he stands just a breath away.

I tilt my head back to meet his eyes just as he pulls his hands from his pockets.

There's a moment's uncertainty before he reaches out, his touch landing gently on my bicep.

His thumb begins to trace small, soothing circles.

The warmth seeps through me, stirring something that's been dormant for weeks.

The tension in my arms eases, the crossed barrier at my chest unfurling. Silas takes a deep breath, relief flooding his features. This gives him the courage to raise that same hand to my neck, caressing the sensitive skin.

His voice is so soft it almost blends into the air. “Can I kiss you?”

When’s the last time we kissed?

I blink, unable to wrap my mind around the idea, and nod solidly. Silas's shoulders sag as though he'd been holding his breath. Slowly, he frames my face before closing the gap between us.

His lips meet mine with a tenderness that undoes me—slow, reverent, savoring.

I feel his fingers tighten slightly, like he’s holding himself back from trying to fuse every part of us together.

My palm finds its way to his chest, pressing against the rapid beat of his heart.

The simple touch draws a shaky exhale from him, his breath mingling with mine, stealing the air from my lungs .

God, I miss him . The feel of him, the taste, his voice. Everything about us that’s electric and good. The relief pours out from him, like he’s trying to flood some of my darkness with his light.

I’ve spent so many years surviving on my own that crawling back into myself was the only instinct. But he’s here, right in front of me, alive and real. I almost lost this for a second time.

Jeff gave this to me .

Every cell in my body aches under that ugly truth.

Silas pulls back, and I open my eyes to find him gazing at me with a gentle smile. He whispers, “Hi.”

My lips curl up slightly. “Hi,” I whisper back, my voice a feather.

He holds me there, and I find myself lost in the details of his face. The sharp cut of his jaw, the well-groomed beard, and the faint freckles that dust his nose and cheeks. His glasses slightly magnify his eyes, my favorite feature—dark and swirling with warmth, like pools of melted chocolate.

I press myself up on my toes, my lips finding his again. This time there’s more weight behind it, more need. I lean fully and melt into the solid feel of him.

A low, guttural sound escapes him as he wraps his arms around me, drawing me closer.

His body vibrates with unmistakable restraint and love.

I feel it in the way his hands settle in my hair and on my back, in every gentle tug.

The way he selflessly molds his body to mine to shoulder some of the burden I caused.

Taking care of me the way he has been for weeks. Quietly. Unfailingly.

When I let people care for me, it all falls apart. When I feel safe, I lose more than I can bear. Peter will have to pry Silas from my cold, dead hands before I let him take this, too.

Silas takes what he needs. What he deserves . Only when he slows do I sink back onto my heels, breath shaky, lips tingling. He doesn’t let me get far, our noses brushing.

There’s no more hiding behind others. No more hesitating. And it starts with the reason I came into this room in the first place .

I let the words slip out before I can reconsider them. “Can we turn this room into my office?”

Silas stiffens at my question. I feel it in the subtle shift of his hands, the quiet tension that coils through his frame.

Swallowing my fear, I press on. “I want to help close down the facility in Sierra Blanca and find Peter.” It all comes rushing out of me faster than I mean for it to, and I have to inhale sharply, forcing myself to slow down. “We both hate this room, so let’s change it.”

This is a gamble. He could say no. I’ll accept that, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least ask because we don’t have to let this space just exist. It could be a place where I start to make things right.

Silas studies me for a long moment. I can almost feel him weighing every word I’ve just spoken, testing them for cracks. The silence stretches until it starts to feel like its own kind of punishment, broken only by the steady rhythm of our breathing.

Then, finally, he nods. Slowly, almost reluctantly, like his heart is still trying to catch up with his decision. His hands grip my waist and hair a little tighter.

“Okay,” he says, voice low but resolute.

“But there will be parameters.” His throat bobs.

“You share everything you learn with me and the team. There’s no going rogue.

If I ever find you trying to handle something on your own, so help me—” Silas pauses to suck in a breath.

“We do this as a team, Elena. Start to finish.”

“Together,” I agree, locking eyes with him. “Until the very end.”