Everic’s eyes don’t rush. They move slowly, deliberately—sweeping across the room like a detective at a crime scene.

The cushions on the floor—tossed aside, forgotten. The blanket crumpled in a heap, twisted into shapes that speak of restless hands and troubled sleep. The sheets on the bed—tangled, pulled loose from the corners, bunched in ways that suggest more than one body occupied that space.

His gaze lingers there for a moment—just a moment—before moving on.

The first-aid box sits open on the table. Bandages. Cotton buds. A small bottle of antiseptic, its cap still off.

Evidence of something that happened not long ago.

Then his eyes find Silas.

The bandage on his temple—stark white against pale skin. Dried blood—brown now, flaking—still clinging to his face. His nightshirt stained with red, small spots scattered across the white fabric like fallen petals.

Everic’s reaction shifts. Not on his face—he’s too trained for that. Too polished.

But I see it in the way his breath catches. The way his hands, still buried in his pockets, clench into fists.

His mind screams—

{What did he do to Silas?}

He steps forward, closing the distance between himself and the couch.

"Silas." His voice is soft. Too soft. The kind he saves for things he wants to protect. "Are you okay? What happened to your face?"

I look away.

Here we go. The concern. The performance.

I stand up—sudden, abrupt—and walk to the bed. I pick up my phone. Scroll through messages I don’t read.

Sum’s name fills the screen. Message after message. I don’t open any of them.

Everic sits beside Silas.

The couch dips beneath his weight. He angles his body toward him—closing the space, claiming his attention, making himself the center of it.

"How did you hurt yourself?"

I glance at them from the corner of my eye.

His mind screams—

{It’s only been one night. One night Silas has lived alone with him. And this is what Ellis does to him. Blood on that beautiful face.}

He’s so dramatic.

Everic’s hand rises—slow, deliberate—reaching toward Silas’s face. His fingers hover, intent on wiping away the tears, the blood, the evidence of pain. To touch. To comfort.

"Did Ellis do this?"

His fingers are inches from Silas’s skin—

Silas pulls back. Quick. Sharp. Like the touch would burn him.

He smiles.

Softly.

Gently.

The same smile he wears every time. Like he wasn’t crying a moment ago. Like his cheeks aren’t still damp with tears. Like his eyes aren’t red from it.

He shakes his head.

No.

I blink. He shook his head.

No.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

I pushed him. He fell. He bled.

Everic blinks. Confusion flickers across his face—there and gone, like a shadow over water.

"Then who did this?"

Silas reaches for the notebook. His fingers close around the pencil—careful, deliberate, like each word costs him something.

He writes. Slow. Neat.

Then hands it to Everic.

Everic takes it. Their fingers brush—lingering a moment too long.

He reads.

Then looks at me.

Silas stands. A small nod—polite, distant—already retreating into the silence he wears like armor.

He moves slowly, carefully, like his body aches, and walks toward the door.

Everic’s voice follows him—soft, warm in a way I’ve never heard from him.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" His tone shifts, urgent now. "We should go to the hospital. Get it checked properly."

Silas pauses at the door. Turns his head just enough to be seen. Smiles again.

Shakes his head.

No.

Everic nods slowly. "Fine." A pause. " Please take care of yourself."

Silas nods. Soft.

His eyes flick to me—just for a moment, just long enough to leave something behind I can’t name—

Then he steps out. The door closes behind him. Soft. Final.

I look down at my phone. Scroll through Sum’s messages. Too many. Too early. Why is he messaging me so much?

"Ellis."

I turn the screen off. Slowly lift my gaze to Everic.

He sets the note on the table. Smooths it flat with his palm—like he’s trying to preserve something. Hold onto it. Keep a piece of Silas with him.

Then he stands. Walks toward me.

His footsteps are heavy against the floor. Each one an accusation.

"What the hell is this?"

My gaze pins him in place.

My morning is already ruined. Torn open. Bleeding out on the floor like Silas’s temple. And now him.

My voice comes out flat. Empty. A blade wrapped in silk. "What are you doing here? So early."

"Mom and Dad told me to check on you two." He stops in front of me—close enough that I can smell his cologne. Expensive. Sharp.

"Good thing I did. I saw what you were doing to that innocent boy."

A cruel laugh slips from my lips.

Of course. Mom and Dad’s obedient pet. Running their errands. Enforcing their will.

I look at him.

"Did he say I did this?"

Everic’s expression cracks—just for a moment. A fracture in the polished surface.

"He didn’t." His voice hardens. "But I know it was you. Silas is covering for you."

A pause.

"I knew it from the start." His gaze sharpens. "You ruin everything you touch. Everything you get your hands on."

Another pause. "Whether it’s a thing. Or a person."

A smirk spreads across my lips. Slow. Cruel.

"Think whatever you want." My voice drops—cold, quiet. The quiet before a storm. "Now get out. I’m not in the mood to argue."

I hold his gaze.

"And learn some manners. Walking into someone’s room like this—unannounced, uninvited—isn’t good behavior."

Everic’s jaw tightens. The muscle flexes beneath his skin.

His mind screams—

{Ellis. How foolish you are. How blind. How undeserving. And still—I don’t know why fate gives you precious things. Things you don’t deserve.}

He turns. Walks toward the door. His hand grips the handle. Pulls it open. He doesn’t look back.

The door closes behind him.

The sound echoes through the room—through the silence, through the morning light, through the wreckage of a night I can’t explain.

I stand there. Staring at the door. For a long while.

Fate gives me precious things?

What a sick joke.

My gaze shifts to the table.

The note rests there. Neatly folded. Carefully placed—the one Silas gave Everic.

I walk toward it.

My footsteps are slow. Heavy. Each one carrying me closer to something I don’t want to see.

What did he say?

I pick up the note. The paper is warm from the morning light. Soft beneath my fingers.

I unfold it.

I fell from the bed while sleeping and hurt myself. But Ellis treated it. Now I’m better. Thank you for asking.

I stare at the words.

Fell from the bed while sleeping.

Why did he lie?