58

58
Mateo stood frozen in the middle of the suite, the crumpled note digging into his palm.

For a moment, he saw him.

Silas, stepping out from behind the curtain, his sly smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His voice low, teasing— “Relax, Mateo… it was just a joke.”

Mateo’s chest loosened, a shaky laugh breaking from his lips as he dropped the paper to the floor.

“You little bastard…” His eyes softened, wet with relief. “You scared me.”

He crossed the room quickly, arms outstretched, the warmth of the vision pulling him in.

He could almost feel Silas’s heartbeat, the curve of his body as he wrapped him close. His lips brushed against his shoulder, his throat, drinking him in.

But when he blinked—

The room was empty. His arms clutched only air.

Mateo froze, the illusion shattering like glass. The silence roared in his ears, heavier than any sound.

His arms dropped slowly to his sides, his body trembling with the realization.

“Silas…” His voice cracked, raw. The name echoed back at him in the hollow suite, cruel in its emptiness.

Mateo’s hands fumbled as he snatched his phone from his pocket, the screen lighting up his tense face. He scrolled down, found Silas’s name instantly—his heart already hammering—and pressed call.

The line rang once. Twice. Then the automated voice hit him like a brick wall: “The number you are trying to reach is switched off.”

Mateo’s jaw clenched. “No… no, don’t do this to me.” He tried again. And again. Each time, the same cold message.

Frustration clawed at him, his thumb flying across the screen as he opened their messages. He typed furiously—

Where the hell are you?
Silas, pick up.
This isn’t funny.

But the second he hit send, the bubble stayed gray. No delivered sign. His stomach dropped. He tapped again, pulled up the profile, and the truth hit him like a knife—

He had been blocked.

The phone slipped from his hand onto the couch, his chest heaving as the weight of it sank in. His pretty boy was gone—and he’d cut him off completely.

Mateo’s pulse thundered as he snatched the crumpled note off the floor, shoving it into his pocket like evidence.

His eyes were wild, darting around the suite as if Silas might still be hiding somewhere.

Then, with a sudden snap of decision, he grabbed his car keys from the counter. The metal clinked sharp in his hand.

“Fine,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and burning. “You wanna run? I’ll find you.”

He stormed toward the door, his mind racing. Silas had his phone off, but Mateo knew every trick. He had ways—connections, tech, people who owed him favors. Tracking him would be child’s play.

He gripped the keys tighter, jaw set. “You can block me, but you can’t hide from me, pretty boy.”

The words came out rough.

Mateo slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing down the hall as he strode out, ready to hunt.



Silas dragged his suitcase down the dark street, each step heavier than the last.

The city lights blurred in his vision, exhaustion weighing on his body. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his worn leather wallet.

Empty. Not a single buck. Not even a coin rattled inside.

He let out a bitter laugh, one that cracked halfway through and almost turned into a sob. “Great. Just great.”

His hand brushed against the sleek edge of something tucked deep in the lining.

He pulled it out slowly, and there it was—Mateo’s black card.

The one he’d kept hidden, the one Mateo had shoved into his hand once with a careless smirk. “For emergencies, pretty boy. Don’t argue.”

Silas stared at it, the metallic shine catching under the streetlight. His throat tightened.

He could swipe it and have everything he needed—food, a room, safety.

But the thought made his stomach churn. That card wasn’t his. It was a chain, a reminder of everything he was trying to break away from.

“No,” he whispered, fingers trembling as he shoved it back . “Not this time. I’ll figure it out myself.”

But as he sank down onto a cold bench by the bus stop, suitcase at his feet, his chest hollow and his stomach gnawing with hunger, he couldn’t shake the truth—

He was utterly, painfully lost.

His chest rose and fell sharply. One swipe, and I won’t be starving… one swipe, and I’ll have a bed instead of this damn bench.

He didn’t notice the pair of shadows that had drifted closer.

Two men leaned against a streetlamp a few feet away, cigarettes glowing faint red in the night.

Their eyes had locked on the shimmer of that black card the moment Silas pulled it out.

One nudged the other, smirking. “Yo, you see that?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” the second one murmured, eyes narrowing. “That ain’t no regular card. That’s one of those rich-man toys. Kid’s flashing it like candy.”

Silas, lost in his thoughts, rubbed his thumb across the embossed numbers, whispering under his breath. “If I use this… it’s like crawling back.”

The men exchanged a look. One flicked his cigarette to the ground and stepped closer, his grin sharp.

“Nice card you got there, kid,” he said smoothly, voice carrying a dangerous edge.

Silas’s head snapped up, his stomach dropping as he realized—he wasn’t alone anymore.

The nearer thug stepped in, knife catching the streetlamp’s glare. He closed the gap until Silas could feel cold metal press against his ribs.

“Give it here,” he said, voice all flat menace. “Nice and easy. Or I’ll—”

The second man didn’t need to finish. He thumbed the pistol free.

Silas’s grip tightened on the card. His chest burned, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said, voice breaking. “It’s mine. You can’t—”

The man with the knife sneered. “Wrong answer.”

Silas lunged, shoving hard against the thug’s chest. For a second, he almost broke free—almost—but the knife slashed down.

A white-hot sting ripped across his arm. Blood welled fast, dripping onto the pavement. Silas gasped, stumbling back, clutching his sleeve.

“Stupid kid,” the gunman spat, jamming the pistol closer. “You really wanna die for a piece of plastic?”

Silas’s breath came ragged. His vision swam. He pressed his hand over the cut, warmth seeping through his fingers. The knife hovered again, ready for another strike.

His strength broke. His hand trembled, then opened. The black card slipped free and hit the ground with a dull smack.

The thug crouched, snatched it up, and grinned. “That’s better.”

They backed away, laughing, their shadows swallowed by the night.