Chapter 29: A Sinister Text (Silas POV)

Nico’s not back yet, and the loft feels empty, cold, with Jace’s USB still in my hand. “Tell me you didn’t kill him,” he’d said, and it’s eating me, doubt twisting my gut. The door bangs open, fast, and Nico stumbles in, face pale, eyes wide, jacket wet from the rain. “Lena,” he says, loud, voice shaking, dropping onto the mattress beside me. “She sold me out. To them.” My heart sinks, and I grab his arm, quick. “What?” I ask, sharp, turning to him.

He breathes hard, hands in his hair. “My crew,” he says, quiet, breaking a little. “She gave them everything—dates, talks, the video.” My chest tightens—Lena, close to him, now a knife in his back. “Why?” I ask, loud, setting the USB down. He shrugs, slow, eyes red. “Money,” he says, low. “Threats. Said I wasn’t supposed to make it this far.” I frown, fast, feeling the weight—her words, heavy, hinting at more.

I pull him close, soft, his head on my shoulder. “She’s gone,” I say, firm, rubbing his back. “We’ve got each other.” He nods, small, but he’s trembling, trust shot. “Just you,” he says, quiet, gripping my shirt. “No one else.” My throat’s tight, Cole’s crash flashing—guilt, now this—and I hold him tighter, needing him steady. “We’re enough,” I say, low, meaning it, but the air’s thick, danger close.

My phone buzzes loud on the table, cutting through, and I grab it, fast, screen lighting up. It’s a text, no number, just words: “Silas Reed—stop digging or you’re dead. No more warnings.” My heart stops, cold sinking in, and I stare, breath catching. Nico leans over, quick. “What’s that?” he asks, loud, grabbing my hand. I show him, slow, voice gone, and his face drops, pale as mine now. “They’re after you,” he says, quiet, voice shaking bad.

I nod, slow, setting the phone down, hands trembling a little. “Not money this time,” I say, low, staring at it. “My life.” Nico stands, fast, pacing hard. “This is my fault,” he says, loud, turning to me. “They’re hitting you because of me.” I shake my head, quick, standing too. “No,” I say, sharp, grabbing his shoulders. “It’s them, not you.” He pulls back, eyes wet. “I dragged you in,” he says, quiet, breaking more.

My chest hurts, seeing him crack. “We’re in together,” I say, firm, stepping closer. “Always were.” He shakes his head, fast, hands clenched. “Not like this,” he says, loud. “Scandal’s mine—video, tabloids, Lena. Now you’re a target.” I grab his face, soft, making him look. “I chose this,” I say, steady. “With you.” He nods, slow, but guilt’s deep, tearing him up, and I feel it too—danger’s real now, not just noise.

I sit again, slow, staring at the text—short, clear, deadly. “They’ve got reach,” I say, quiet, thinking of Mercer, Vance, the club. Nico stops pacing, leans on the wall. “More than we thought,” he says, low, voice flat. “Lena said they’ve got everyone.” My mind spins—Cole’s crash, “eliminated,” now me in their sights. “They’re scared,” I say, loud, looking up. “We’re close.” He nods, small, but his eyes are dark, lost.

He slides down the wall, sitting hard, head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, quiet, voice muffled. “Should’ve kept you out.” I kneel beside him, fast, pulling his hands down. “Stop,” I say, sharp, holding them tight. “You’re not doing this alone.” He looks at me, broken. “They’ll kill you,” he says, low, barely there. My stomach twists, fear hitting—real fear, sharp and cold—but I shove it down, hard.

“They’ve been threatening,” I say, firm, standing up, pacing now. “Club, texts, tabloids. This is louder.” Nico nods, slow, watching me. “Louder’s worse,” he says, quiet, pulling his knees up. “They mean it now.” I stop, fast, feeling it—escalation, past scandal, into blood. “Yeah,” I say, low, staring at the phone again. “But we’ve got stuff—files, USB, Vance.” He shakes his head, fast. “Not worth your life,” he says, loud, standing too.

I step closer, voice steady. “It’s worth us,” I say, soft, grabbing his hand again. “We don’t quit.” He squeezes back, tight, but his eyes are scared, deep. “I can’t lose you,” he says, quiet, voice cracking again. My throat’s tight, and I nod, slow. “You won’t,” I say, firm, but inside, doubt’s creeping—Cole’s gone, threats real, and I’m not sure anymore.

The loft’s quiet, just us breathing, when I grab the phone, text glaring up. “They’re pushing,” I say, loud, turning to him. “Means we’re right.” Nico nods, slow, wiping his face. “Or dead,” he says, low, sitting again. I shake my head, fast, defiance rising. “If they want me scared,” I say, sharp, voice strong, “they picked the wrong guy.” He looks up, small smile, but I feel it—fear, real and deep, clawing inside, and I know he sees it too.