Chapter 20 The Water Test
Mia barely slept. She lay in her brand-new tent—courtesy of Elara’s generosity—and stared at the dark nylon ceiling while her mind spun in circles. Elara’s story by the fire had painted Ethan as a cheerful matchmaker, but the forum posts had described heated arguments with Silas. The toxicology books also pointed to Silas.
Nothing fit. Or everything fit, depending on how you looked at it.
By the time grey morning light filtered through the tent, Mia had made a decision. She couldn’t keep circling the same questions. She needed something definitive, something that would force the truth into the open.
She needed to test Silas. One final time.
The plan was reckless and possibly suicidal, but it had a brutal logic: if Silas wanted her dead, he’d have his perfect chance. If he saved her… then everything she’d believed was wrong.
Morning came slowly to the forest, the sun struggling through layers of mist that clung to the lake. The camp stirred gradually—someone coughing, a tent zipper, the clatter of a pot being retrieved from where raccoons had knocked it over in the night.
Mia emerged from her tent to find Elara already awake, impossibly fresh and organized, setting up a portable camping stove for coffee. She waved cheerfully when she spotted Mia.
“Morning, sleepyhead! Coffee’s almost ready. We’re thinking pancakes for breakfast—Ben claims he’s a master with the camp griddle, but I have serious doubts.”
The normalcy of it was surreal. Mia forced a smile and accepted a metal mug of coffee that scalded her hands, chasing away some of the night’s chill.
Silas emerged from the tent he shared with Ben, his hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looked almost human like this, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen. He caught her staring and his expression immediately shuttered, walls slamming back into place.
After a breakfast of slightly-burned pancakes and overcooked bacon, people scattered to their various morning activities. Some went for a hike. Others set up a volleyball net. Jessica immediately claimed a sunny spot and spread out with a book she clearly had no intention of reading.
Mia volunteered to wash the berries someone had brought for lunch.
“There’s a stream that feeds into the lake,” Marcus said, pointing through the trees. “Just down that path. It's a really pretty spot.”
Perfect.
She took the colander of berries and headed down the narrow trail, very aware of the eyes that might or might not be watching her go. The path was carpeted with pine needles that muffled her footsteps, and the morning mist still clung to the ground in patches.
The stream was exactly where Marcus said—a clear, burbling ribbon of water running over smooth stones into a deeper pool before continuing toward the main lake. The banks were slippery with moss and damp earth.
Mia’s heart was hammering so hard she felt dizzy. This was insane. This was the stupidest thing she’d ever done. But she had to know.
She had to find out.
She positioned herself where she’d be visible from camp if anyone happened to look this way. Set the berries carefully on a flat rock. Took a breath that felt like swallowing stones.
Then she let her foot slide out from under her.
The scream that tore from her throat wasn’t entirely fake—the shock of the cold water was real, stealing her breath and sending her heart into overdrive. She went under, the current stronger than it looked, pulling her toward the deeper pool. She came up sputtering, coughing, thrashing just enough to look panicked without actually drowning herself.
“Help! I can’t…” Water filled her mouth. She coughed. “Help!”
For a horrible second, nothing happened. The forest was silent except for the stream’s cheerful babbling. Had no one heard? Had she just thrown herself into freezing water for nothing?
Then she heard movements. Fast and fierce.
A figure came crashing through the brush at a dead sprint, sending gravel and pine needles flying. Mia barely had time to register who it was before he hit the water in a controlled dive that barely made a splash.
Silas.
Three powerful strokes and he was beside her, and oh god, his face…
The mask was completely gone. His eyes were wide, almost wild, scanning her face with an intensity that looked like fear. Real, undiluted fear.
“Stop fighting me!” His voice was rough, commanding. One arm hooked around her chest, pulling her against him in a lifeguard’s carry that was both secure and strangely gentle. “I’ve got you. Stop.”
He towed her toward the bank with strong, sure strokes. His body was solid against her back, warm even in the freezing water. She felt his heartbeat, racing almost as fast as hers.
He dragged her onto the muddy shore, and she collapsed, coughing water that burned her throat and nose. Real coughs now, nothing fake about them.
“Breathe,” Silas ordered, his hand on her back, surprisingly gentle. “Just breathe.”
Before either of them could say anything else, another voice shattered the moment.
“Mia! Oh my god!”
Elara came running down the path, her face paper-white, eyes huge with shock. She skidded to her knees in the mud beside Mia, hands fluttering over her without quite touching, as if she were afraid she’d break.
“Are you okay? Did you hit your head? Can you breathe?” The questions tumbled out in a panicked rush. “The water here—it’s so dangerous. The currents are tricky. You have to be so careful.” Her voice dropped to a pained whisper, and her eyes glistened with what looked like real tears. “You can’t…you mustn’t be like Ethan.”
The name hung in the damp air like a curse.
Silas, still kneeling beside Mia, water streaming from his hair and clothes, went absolutely stiff. Something flickered across his face—pain, maybe, or rage—before he locked it down.
Elara reached out and touched his wet shoulder, her expression shifting from panic to something softer. She looked at Mia with an intensity that made her pause. “See?” Her voice was thick with emotion. “This is what I mean. He’s all sharp edges and cruel words on the outside.” She looked at Silas with such obvious devotion it hurt to witness. “But inside? He jumps in. He saves people. He’s good, Mia. He’s a genuinely good person.”
Mia, still shivering and coughing, pulled the blanket someone had brought closer around her shoulders. She kept her eyes down, playing the part of someone too shaken to respond.
But inside, her mind was screaming.
He jumped in. He actually looked terrified.
He saved me.
The logic was unavoidable and simple. If Silas wanted her dead, the universe had just handed him the perfect opportunity. A tragic accident. A slippery bank. No witnesses except Elara, who would never question him. He could have hesitated. Could have “tried” and “failed.” Could have held her under just a few seconds too long.
Instead, he’d run like his life depended on it. Had pulled her out with hands that shook and eyes that held genuine panic.
That wasn’t the reaction of a killer seeing an opportunity.
That was the reaction of someone who’d seen death before and couldn’t bear to see it again.
Elara fussed around her, chattering about dry clothes and hot tea and hypothermia. Silas stood up, water pooling at his feet, and looked down at Mia with an expression that was carefully blank.
But his eyes told a different story. They held knowledge, and anger, and a grim kind of vindication.
He’d probably knew. Knew this had been a test. Knew she’d thrown herself in deliberately.
And he’d saved her anyway.
He turned without a word and walked back up the path toward camp, leaving wet footprints on the packed earth and a trail of unanswered questions in his wake.
As Elara wrapped another blanket around her shoulders—those cold, cold hands gentle and concerned—Mia’s entire understanding of the past weeks changed.
If Silas didn't want her dead, then who’s really the culprit?