Chapter 27: Personal Confrontations (Silas POV)
The theater’s still in my head—glass shattering, Mercer running, blood on the floor. Nico’s beside me as we stumble back to the loft, his hand tight in mine, both of us quiet after that ambush. Vance’s name is burning a hole in my pocket, Mercer’s warning—“no turning back”—loud in my ears. We’re barely inside, door shut, when someone bangs on it, hard and fast. Nico jumps, eyes wide. “Who now?” he asks, voice shaky. I step forward, slow, heart thumping, and open it.
Jace is there—Cole’s old friend, tall, buzzed hair, face red with anger. “Silas,” he says, loud, shoving past me into the loft. I shut the door, fast, turning to face him. “What do you want?” I ask, voice rough, feeling my chest tighten. He’s glaring, fists clenched, same hate he’s had since the crash. “You,” he says, sharp, stepping closer. “Still acting like you’re clean.” Nico moves up, tense. “Back off,” he says, loud, but Jace ignores him, eyes locked on me.
I shake my head, slow, guilt rising fast. “I’m not clean,” I say, quiet, staring back. “Never said I was.” He laughs, short and mean, pointing hard. “You killed him,” he says, loud, voice cracking a little. “Cole’s dead because of you.” My stomach drops, old pain cutting deep—car spinning, glass breaking, his silence. “I know,” I say, low, hands shaking. “I live with it.” Jace steps closer, face twisted. “Not enough,” he says, sharp. “You don’t even know the half.”
My breath catches, and I frown, fast. “What’s that mean?” I ask, loud, stepping up too. He smirks, bitter, crossing his arms. “That night,” he says, slow, eyes dark. “Cole wasn’t right. You didn’t see?” I blink, hard, flashes hitting—rain, him quiet, me laughing. “He was tired,” I say, weak, unsure now. Jace shakes his head, fast. “No,” he says, loud. “Scared. He called me, hours before.”
I freeze, heart pounding, and Nico grabs my arm, soft. “Called?” I say, quiet, staring at Jace. He nods, slow, voice steady. “Yeah,” he says. “Said he was in trouble, deep. Someone was after him.” My head spins, and I see Cole again—fidgeting, pale, not himself. “Why didn’t he tell me?” I ask, loud, voice breaking. Jace steps closer, eyes hard. “Maybe he tried,” he says, sharp. “You were too busy.”
My chest hurts, guilt slamming me—him asking, “You trust me?” me brushing it off. “What’d he say?” I ask, fast, needing more. Jace leans in, voice low. “He met someone,” he says, slow. “Shady guy, pushed him hard. Said he’d fix it, but he was spooked.” My mind races—Vance? The club? “Who?” I say, loud, grabbing his shirt. He pulls back, hard. “Didn’t name him,” he says, sharp. “Just said it was bad, and you were driving.”
I stumble back, legs weak, crashing into the table. “Driving,” I say, quiet, seeing it—headlights, too close, too fast. “You think I set him up?” I ask, loud, staring at him. Jace shrugs, cold. “Don’t know,” he says, steady. “But you were there, and he’s gone.” Nico steps up, voice tight. “Silas didn’t,” he says, loud, but I shake my head, fast, doubt creeping in—my memory’s fuzzy, gaps I can’t fill.
“What else?” I ask, sharp, standing straight again. Jace paces, slow, eyes on me. “He was jumpy,” he says, quiet. “Said they’d been watching, knew his moves.” My gut twists—files, “eliminated,” now this call. “Watching?” I say, loud, turning to Nico. “Like us.” He nods, slow, pale now too. Jace stops, glares. “Yeah,” he says, sharp. “And you didn’t notice, too caught up spinning your crap.”
I wince, hard, guilt mixing with anger. “I didn’t know,” I say, loud, stepping closer. “He hid it!” Jace laughs, mean again. “Hid it?” he says, sharp. “Or you ignored it?” My hands ball up, and I see him—Cole, quiet, me joking, missing it all. “I messed up,” I say, quiet, voice shaking. “But I didn’t kill him.” Jace steps up, close, voice low. “Maybe,” he says, cold. “Maybe not. But you’re why he’s dead.”
My knees buckle, and I sit hard, head spinning—crash, call, shadows I didn’t see. “I can’t trust this,” I say, quiet, rubbing my face. “My own head’s lying.” Nico kneels beside me, soft. “You didn’t,” he says, firm, grabbing my hand. “They did.” Jace watches, steady, then digs in his pocket, slow. “Don’t believe me?” he says, loud, holding something small. “Check it yourself.”
He steps closer, shoves a USB drive into my hand, hard, and I stare, cold sinking in. “Listen to this,” he says, sharp, voice cutting deep, “and tell me you didn’t kill him.” My heart stops, and I grip it, tight, feeling its weight—answers, maybe, or worse. He turns, fast, heading for the door, and I yell, “Jace, wait!” but he’s gone, leaving me stuck, shaken bad, unsure what’s real anymore.