Chapter 27

The heavy metal door creaked open. Footsteps echoed somewhere above, then the slow, deliberate sound of boots and dragging feet descended the concrete stairs.

Gerard came down first, calm and steady, like a man savoring every moment. Behind him, Thomas Heart shoved Silver forward. Silver stumbled—his wrists bound tightly in front, a dark bruise spreading across his jaw. Stiles followed silently, pale-faced, jaw clenched tight.

“Okay, let’s all just remember I’m human and bruises show really well,” Stiles gritted out, trying to keep control.

Gerard’s voice was smooth, almost casual. “Come along, Mr. Stilinski. You’re just in time for the lesson.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs, stepping into the old hunting chamber. The walls were dark and stained with dried blood. In the center, Erica and Boyd hung bound from chains, barely conscious, their arms marked with fresh cuts, heads bowed.

Stiles staggered back a step. “Jesus…”

Silver froze. “No…”

Instinctively, he stepped forward — and Thomas grabbed him by the collar, shoving him down the last few steps. Silver hit the floor hard, shoulder first, gasping.

“Stay where you belong,” Thomas warned, stern.

Silver pushed himself up, fury flashing through the pain as he glared. “What the hell is this?”

Gerard’s tone was dispassionate, cold. “This… is what loyalty looks like.”

He paused, letting the weight hang in the air. “Painful. Honest. Unavoidable.”

Turning toward the chained Betas, he added, “They wouldn’t betray their Alpha. That’s admirable. But not useful.”

A faint hum filled the room—walls lined with metal fencing pulsing with blue electricity.

Stiles sat on the cold floor, arms bound, blood trickling from a wound on his temple. Silver slumped next to him, shirt torn, bruises blooming across his collarbone and jaw.

Stiles whispered sharply, “Shhh!”

Silver’s voice was stiff. “I’m not screaming.”

Suddenly, Stiles yelped, shifting too close to the electrified fence.

Gerard chuckled, amused. “They were trying to warn you. It’s electrified.”

Stiles gritted his teeth. “Yeah, thanks for the heads up, Emperor Palpatine.”

He glanced sideways at Silver, who stared blankly ahead, breathing shallowly.

Stiles bit out to Gerard, “What are you doing with us? With him?”

Gerard paced leisurely, at ease. “At the moment? Just keeping you both… comfortable. Torture is rarely effective. And here, unnecessary. You won’t give Derek up. The instinct to protect your Alpha—that’s stronger than pain.”

Stiles shifted nervously. “Okay. So, then, what are you doing with me? Because Scott—Scott knows my scent, okay? It’s… pungent. Practically a stench. He could find me even if I was buried under a sewer full of—” He paused, realizing. “Okay, maybe that’s not helping my case.”

Gerard smiled thinly. “You have a knack for creating vivid pictures, Mr. Stilinski.”

He knelt between them, shadow stretching ominously across Silver.

“Let me paint one of my own…” Gerard said quietly. “Scott McCall finds his best friend—and Arthur Argent—bloodied, broken, discarded like trash in the woods. How does that sound?”

Stiles managed a weak joke. “I think I might prefer a nice still life. Something with a fruit bowl.”

Silver finally looked up, eyes red-rimmed, voice low and flat.

Gerard smirked. “Your mother understood sacrifice. If you had half her spine, maybe your father wouldn’t be so conflicted.”

Silver’s jaw clenched. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists.

“You want me to break,” he said, bitter. “But you already did that years ago.”

Gerard stood, unbothered.

“You’re not broken yet. But you’re close. Just a few more cracks.”

Silver stared ahead, voice steady but cold. “It was your plan. You just wanted to push me aside because I’m weak. You’re using Thomas as your guard dog. You told him to beat me.”

Stiles shot Silver a sarcastic look. “Okay, buddy, can you save the dark poetic stuff for later? I’m trying not to cry in front of the supervillain.”

Silver said nothing but leaned back against the wall, breathing slow — as if holding himself together was a fight in itself.

The humming of the electrified fence echoed softly, as did Gerard’s footsteps fading upstairs.

🦎

The house was quiet—too quiet. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, nearly drowned out by the low roll of distant thunder. Argent stepped in from the garage, tossing his keys onto the table with a clatter. His face was drawn, tired, grim.

“I saw the lights flicker,” he said softly, as if speaking too loudly might shatter something.

From the shadows, Gerard stepped forward, calm as ever. “Probably just one of our guests getting comfortable downstairs.”

Argent stiffened, jaw tightening. The subtle shift in his eyes betrayed his unease.

Gerard offered a thin smile. “Get some sleep if you can. I have a feeling the next twenty-four hours are going to be… eventful.”

Argent ignored the dig, his tone sharpening. “You gonna tell me what happened at the game?”

“Didn’t you hear?” Gerard said, feigning amusement. “We won.”

Argent didn’t blink. “I meant Jackson.”

“So did I.”

Argent narrowed his eyes, something ugly twisting in his gut—but before he could say more, footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Allison appeared at the top of the stairs. Her eyes were distant, cold, and something in her face had hardened—no longer the girl Argent once tucked in at night, but a soldier forged in grief.

“You need something?” she asked coolly.

Argent sighed. “I want you to step aside and let us handle this.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she snapped.

“One of your friends is dead—” he started, but she cut him off before the guilt could fully settle.

“Because of Derek,” Allison said sharply. “How do you think Jackson became that thing in the first place?”

She descended the steps slowly, like a lioness stalking the room. Gerard lingered behind her, silent and satisfied.

“Kate. Mom. Jackson,” she listed, each name like a dagger thrown.

Argent flinched, glancing quickly toward the stairs—enough for her to notice.

“And now Silver,” she said quietly.

From the shadows, Michael stepped out, hovering near the hallway. His face was conflicted, caught somewhere between duty and regret.

“What about your brother?” Argent asked gently. “What if he dies too?”

“He’s not my brother,” Allison said flatly.

Argent bristled. “Don’t say that.”

“Oh, come on,” she scoffed. “If we’re gonna start quoting from the ‘Top Five Things a Parent Should Say To Their Kid,’ maybe start with ‘I’m proud of you.'”

She didn’t wait for a reaction. “Because I’m doing exactly what you wanted, aren’t I?”

“No,” Argent said quickly, glancing again at Michael. “You’re doing exactly what Gerard wants. We all are.”

Michael flinched. Gerard said nothing—just watched them unravel with quiet satisfaction.

Allison shook her head, eyes tired and voice colder than steel. “I’m tired. I just want to pass out, okay?”

Argent hesitated, then gave in with a quiet, “Fine.”

She turned to leave, but paused. “By the way—don’t forget. You owe me a new bow.”

Michael remained a moment longer, eyes locked on Argent. His voice was lower, more raw. “Silver didn’t deserve any of this.”

“Neither did you,” Argent replied, voice stern but worn.

Michael looked down. “I miss my mom. She would know what to do… She might be heading to the hospital.”

Then, without another word, he followed Allison upstairs, disappearing into the shadows.

🦎

Argent stood alone in the entryway, staring into the silence like it might answer him. His face was a battlefield—grief, shame, and something else: fear.

The house was still—too still. A silence thick enough to feel. Argent moved slowly through the hallway, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion and guilt. When he passed by Silver’s room, something in him froze.

The door was cracked open.

Argent hesitated. Then, with a quiet breath, he pushed it open.

Inside, the room was dim, shadows cast long from the single lamp left on the desk. Silver sat on the floor beside his bed, his back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to his chest. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t trembling. He was just… still.

His shirt was torn at the collar, hanging off one shoulder, revealing skin mottled with bruises—deep purples and angry reds. His lip was split, dried blood crusting at the corner. One eye was swollen nearly shut. His knuckles, scraped and raw, were curled tightly against his legs like he was holding himself together through sheer will.

Argent stood in the doorway, stunned. His voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Silver…”

There was no response.

He took a cautious step into the room, like approaching something wounded and wild. “What happened to you?”

Silver didn’t look at him. His voice came distant, detached. “I thought I could outrun him.”

Argent frowned. He crouched down slowly, trying to catch his eyes. “Who?” he asked gently. “Gerard?”

Silver’s gaze flicked, not toward him, but inward—into some memory he couldn’t escape. “Both of them. All of them.”

His voice cracked, just enough to betray everything he wasn’t saying.

Argent lowered himself fully to the floor, reaching to take Silver’s hand—but the boy flinched, pulling back on instinct.

And that… that broke something in Argent.

🦎

The room was still—eerily still.

Silver sat hunched on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped tightly around his middle like he was trying to hold something broken together. His head hung low, dark hair falling over his face, hiding the bruises blooming along his jaw and neck. Faint cuts, still fresh, lined the inside of his forearms. The only light came from the window—cold, blue, and indifferent.

The door creaked open.

Silver didn’t move. He already knew it wasn’t Argent.

A too-familiar voice slipped into the quiet like poison.

“Time to get moving,” Gerard said, mockingly warm. “Big night ahead.”

Silver’s jaw clenched.

Behind Gerard, Thomas stepped into the room. The sound of his boots was heavier than the silence—like the floor itself braced against him.

“I’m not going with you,” Silver said quietly, voice bitter and tight.

Gerard stepped farther inside, hands clasped behind his back, all calm condescension. “You don’t have to want to,” he replied. “You just have to stand when we drag you out there.”

Slowly, Silver lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot, raw—but burning.

“You already broke me,” he said. “What more do you want?”

Thomas didn’t blink. “Your presence. That’s all. Just stand there and look helpless. You’re very good at that.”

Silver surged to his feet, unsteady but defiant. “You’re going to use me to bait Scott, aren’t you?”

Gerard gave a thin smile. “Scott. Derek. Anyone stupid enough to still care about your broken little body.”

That was when Thomas moved. He grabbed Silver by the arm—hard—and wrenched him toward the door.

Silver stumbled, his shoulder colliding painfully with the wall, but he didn’t cry out. He just gritted his teeth, breath sharp in his throat.

“Why not just kill me?” he asked, voice low.

Gerard didn’t even look back. “Because you’re still useful, Arthur.”

Thomas shoved him forward. Silver staggered, catching himself against the hallway as he was dragged out of his room—out of the place that once meant safety, now reduced to nothing but another cage.

🦎

The night air hung heavy around the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital parking lot. The cold crept into Argent’s bones, but it wasn’t what made him stiffen. He stood beside his car, arms crossed tightly, his face drawn and worn thin by worry.

From the shadows, Rachel Heart approached. Her footsteps were light, but her presence was anything but. Her arms were folded across her chest, her expression tight with frustration and something sharper—fear.

“He’s worse than I thought,” Rachel said quietly, urgency tucked under every word. “Silver’s not just hurt—he’s been beaten down. Physically. Mentally. Gerard and Thomas don’t want to break him… they want to use him.”

Argent looked away, his jaw tightening until it trembled. He couldn’t bring himself to speak right away.

“That monster,” he finally muttered, his voice low and bitter. “Sending Thomas after my son… I thought I’d done enough to keep Silver safe.”

Rachel stepped closer, her voice hardening. “It’s not just Silver anymore. Allison’s slipping. Michael’s tearing himself apart trying to hold her together. And you? You’ve been running in circles—trying to patch the cracks without realizing the whole foundation’s falling in.”

Argent clenched his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “I’m not running anymore,” he said. “Gerard’s crossed a line. Dragging my son into this like he’s just a pawn—”

“Then stop,” Rachel cut in. “Stop trying to carry this by yourself. You can’t outmaneuver him alone. You’ve tried.”

Argent exhaled, the weight of the last few days pressing down on his shoulders. His eyes found hers—steady, tired, but resolute.

“We’ll need Scott,” he said. “We don’t have a choice anymore.”

Rachel nodded. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable, but it was honest—filled with grief, determination… and the faintest flicker of hope.

🦎

The hospital parking lot was quiet, too quiet for what had just happened. The only sound was the scuff of rubber soles on pavement as Scott and Isaac rushed out, a heavy black body bag between them—Jackson. His jaw was tight, his eyes scanning the perimeter for anything—anyone.

And then, at the far edge of the garage, two figures emerged from the dark.

Argent.

And beside him—Rachel Heart.

Both of them looked worn down by battle, but the fight still burned in their eyes. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t over.

“You’re alone,” Scott said, voice tense.

Argent let out a breath that sounded more like a curse. “More than you know.”

“What do you want?” Scott asked, slowing to a stop, still holding the body bag with Isaac.

Argent stopped a few feet away. Rachel hung just behind him, arms crossed, her jaw tight with fury she wasn’t bothering to hide.

“We don’t always see eye to eye, Scott,” Argent said. “But right now… we need the same thing.”

“You’re talking about Jackson?” Scott asked, nodding toward the body bag.

Argent shook his head. “No. I didn’t mean Jackson.”

Rachel stepped forward now, her voice sharp and cold. “He means Gerard. And Thomas. Thomas was the one who beat Silver that night. Gerard told him to.”

Scott’s brows furrowed, confusion turning quickly into rage. He ran a hand over his face, trying to stay grounded—trying not to explode.

“Why?” he asked. “Why would they do this to Silver?”

Argent’s answer came low and heavy. “Because Gerard sees compassion as weakness. And Silver… he still has a heart. That makes him dangerous.”

Rachel looked away, just for a second—but when she spoke again, her voice cracked. “If we don’t stop this, Scott… I don’t know who we’ll lose next.”

Scott nodded slowly, his voice thick. “Then let us go. Let me help.”

Argent hesitated, the weight of the world in his eyes. “You still want to play hero?”

“I want to save them,” Scott said firmly. “All of them. Silver, Allison—Michael too.”

There was a long beat—just the wind and the sound of Isaac shifting beside him.

Then, finally, Argent pulled out his keys and tossed them to Scott.

“My car’s faster,” he said. “And we’re running out of time.”

🦎

The fog hung low over the cracked pavement of the warehouse district, coiling like smoke beneath the flickering streetlights. The air was cold and tense, vibrating with something just beneath the surface. Isaac, bloodied and panting, crouched beside the still body on the ground. His voice came out in a whisper.

“I think he stopped moving…”

Argent’s voice was low but urgent. “Where’s Derek?”

From the shadows, Peter Hale stepped into view, a smug grin playing on his face.

“Someone certainly enjoys making an entrance,” he muttered.

A split second later, Derek flipped through the air and landed hard in front of Argent, his red eyes gleaming in the dark.

“I’m here for Jackson. Not you,” Argent said sharply.

“Somehow, I don’t find that very comforting,” Derek replied coldly. He glanced toward the teens. “Get him inside.”

As they gathered around the body bag holding Jackson, Scott’s voice broke through the tension, aimed directly at Derek.

“Where are they? Peter and Lydia—where—”

Derek said nothing. Instead, he knelt and yanked open the zipper. The sharp sound of metal echoed across the concrete.

“Forget them, Scott. We’re past saving him now.”

Scott stepped forward, desperate. “But you said—”

“Gerard controls him now. He’s turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog,” Derek said grimly. “All of this—everything—was to make Jackson more powerful. More dangerous.”

Argent’s voice cracked. “No. He wouldn’t… If Jackson’s a dog turning rabid, my father wouldn’t let him live.”

A voice slid like a knife through the night.

“Of course not.”

Everyone turned to see Gerard standing calmly in the shadows, smiling with cold satisfaction.

“Anything that dangerous… that out of control… is better off dead.”

Suddenly, chaos exploded.

Derek lunged—only to be intercepted. Claws slashed across his chest. Jackson, fully transformed, lifted him with unnatural strength and hurled him across the warehouse.

“Derek!” Silver shouted, horror in his voice.

Gerard stepped forward, triumphant. “Well done to the last, Scott. Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek to save him. What you didn’t realize… is that you were also bringing Derek to me.”

He gestured into the darkness.

“And let’s not forget our other guest.”

Thomas emerged from the shadows, dragging Silver forward. His face was bloodied, his movements weak, his wrists raw from restraints.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” Silver rasped, stumbling.

“Only if you stayed useful,” Gerard replied, cold. “Looks like you’re out of use.”

“Silver—!” Argent surged forward.

But Thomas pulled a blade, pressing it to Silver’s throat. “Back off,” he warned, “or I bleed him dry.”

Michael stepped forward, frozen in place. “Let him go. This isn’t who you are.”

A voice cut clean through the tension.

“He’s exactly who his father raised him to be.”

Rachel Heart stepped into the light, a gun trembling in her grip but trained steadily on Thomas.

“You lay another hand on that boy,” she said, voice fierce, “and I swear, Thomas, I will end this cycle myself.”

Gerard sneered, “A little late for maternal clarity, isn’t it?”

Argent turned to Rachel, his voice urgent. “Get Silver out of here.”

But before Rachel could move, Silver shook his head sharply and pulled free of her. His body was shaking, barely upright, but his eyes were steady.

“No,” he rasped. “I’m staying.”

Rachel reached for him, panicked. “Arthur—please—”

“I said no.” Silver’s voice cut clean. “I’m not running anymore.”

Argent’s eyes locked with his son’s. He saw it then — the same steel that ran through their blood. He nodded once, silent and proud.

That’s when the first arrow flew — a blur slicing through the air. It struck Isaac in the shoulder with a sickening thud, and before anyone could react, Gerard raised his hand.

“Begin,” he whispered.

An explosion of violence followed.

Argent was flung across the room. The Kanima shrieked, lunging forward. Derek charged first, claws drawn, slashing across its hide—but the beast caught him mid-swing and hurled him aside. His body slammed into a concrete pillar, crumpling to the floor.

Scott and Isaac moved next, but they weren’t alone.

Silver, battered and bleeding, surged into the fray with them. He barely dodged a swipe of the Kanima’s tail and rolled under a rusted steel beam. Claws slashed the air where he’d just been.

“We hit it together!” Scott shouted.

The three of them—Scott, Isaac, and Silver—formed a loose circle, flanking the Kanima from all sides. Silver lunged first, his claws catching the creature’s arm, drawing black blood. It shrieked in rage.

“You picked the wrong broken kid to bait,” Silver snarled, driving a boot into its leg.

The Kanima retaliated, backhanding Silver across the face. He hit the ground hard, but rolled back up with a growl. The beast turned—only for Scott to crash into its side and knock it back toward Isaac, who slashed across its ribs.

And then—another scream. Allison.

She stood frozen as the Kanima turned to her. It moved fast, faster than anything should. Its claws closed around her wrists, then her throat.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Gerard said as he strolled calmly forward, watching the chaos with delight.

Allison turned to him, confused and afraid. “What are you doing?”

“He’s doing what he came here to do,” Scott said darkly.

“Then you know,” Gerard replied.

“What’s he talking about?” Allison asked her grandfather.

Gerard smiled. “It was the night outside the hospital—when I threatened your mother. You could smell it, couldn’t you?”

Isaac looked at Scott. “He’s dying.”

Gerard didn’t deny it. “I am. I have been. But science doesn’t have a cure. The supernatural does.”

Silver, voice steady despite the pain, stepped forward. “You’d really go against everything you claimed to believe in—just to live a few more years?”

Gerard’s voice was like steel. “When it comes to survival, I’d kill my own son.”

Scott turned toward Derek.

“Scott,” Silver pleaded, “don’t do this.”

But Scott walked forward, silent, resolved. He grabbed Derek by the collar.

“You know he’ll kill me right after,” Derek said.

“That’s true,” Gerard replied smoothly. “But he knows the prize now… is Silver. Do this one task, and they can be together. Derek… you don’t fit the puzzle anymore. And there’s no competing with young love.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott said softly. “But I have to.”

He forced Derek’s mouth open. Gerard offered his arm. Fangs sank in. Gerard smiled—

Until the burning started.

He staggered. His veins blackened. Derek dropped to the ground—but Gerard reeled back, roaring in agony.

“What… what did you do?”

Scott stepped forward, voice calm. “Everyone always said Gerard had a plan. Well… I had one too.”

Gerard fumbled for his pills. They spilled across the floor. When the powder hit the ground, it sparked—

“Mountain ash!” he bellowed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek asked through gritted teeth.

“Because you might be an alpha,” Scott said, “but you’re not my alpha.”

“Kill them! Kill them all!” Gerard shrieked.

But before the Kanima could move—

BAM.

The Jeep crashed through the wall, slamming into the creature.

“Did I get him?!” Stiles yelled from the driver’s seat.

“Jackson!” Lydia screamed.

“Wait—Lydia!” Scott shouted, but she stepped forward without hesitation.

She held out a key.

The Kanima stilled. Jackson’s form shimmered beneath the surface.Jackson hesitated. His eyes shifted. He took the key.

He stood back then as Derek and Peter lunged, stabbing Jackson in unison.

Lydia caught him as he collapsed.

“Do you—do you still—”

“I do,” Lydia whispered. “I do still love you. I do. I do still love you.”

The Kanima crumbled. Jackson was human again. Whole. Breathing. The nightmare was over.

Allison stepped forward, still shaken. “Where’s Gerard?”

“He can’t be far,” Argent said grimly.

Lydia sobbed quietly, cradling Jackson. Then a sound — claws on concrete. They turned.

Jackson stood up. Alive. His eyes glowed blue.

From across the room, Stiles groaned. “He scratched my Jeep…”

In the shadows, Thomas Heart began to retreat, slipping into the fog like a fading ghost.

“No,” Michael said, voice low but firm.

His eyes locked on the figure moving away.

“Dad!” he shouted, the word cutting through the night like a blade.

Thomas turned, startled — only to come face to face with Argent.

No hesitation. No second chance.

BANG.

The gunshot echoed.

Thomas crumpled to the ground, a stunned silence following in its wake.

Argent lowered his weapon, eyes hard as stone.

“You hurt my son,” he said flatly.

Rachel was already moving — dropping to her knees beside Silver, wrapping her arms around him like she could shield him from everything that had come before.

Tears streaked her face, but her voice was steady.

“It’s over,” she whispered, one hand cradling the back of his head.

🦎

Silver sat at the edge of his bed, arms folded tightly around his knees. The dried blood in the cracks of his skin stood out against the dim light, evidence of a fight that hadn’t yet ended inside him. Scott entered quietly, his presence careful, almost hesitant.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Scott asked softly.

Silver nodded and gave a small gesture toward the bed beside him. Scott sat, close enough to feel the heat between them, but not touching. For a long beat, neither of them said anything. Then Silver inhaled—slow and heavy, like just breathing cost more than it used to.

“My dad wants to take us to France,” Silver said, voice low. “Not just for the summer… maybe longer. Michael’s going. So is his mom.”

He let the silence hang before adding, “They’re sticking around.”

Scott’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything yet. He waited.

“He thinks it’ll be good for us,” Silver continued. “Time away. Clean slate, maybe.”

Scott finally asked, “And what do you think?”

Silver shrugged, and it wasn’t a neutral shrug. It was one of quiet resignation—like he’d already accepted something he didn’t want.

“I think it’s running,” he admitted. “But… maybe running is all I’ve got left.”

Scott turned to him, pain flashing in his eyes.

“You could stay,” he said. “With me.”

That made Silver look at him. His eyes were rimmed red—not from crying, but from holding everything in for far too long. When he spoke, his voice was steady, but soft.

“I can’t. Not like this.”

Scott moved to protest, but Silver cut him off gently.

“I love you. God, I do. Probably more than I should. But when I look in the mirror, I don’t see someone worth staying for.”

Scott opened his mouth, but no words came. None would’ve been enough.

Silver shook his head slightly, the emotion behind his eyes threatening to spill.

“You deserve someone whole. Someone who doesn’t flinch when you reach for them. Someone who knows how to let love in without feeling like they’re going to break apart.”

Scott’s voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I can wait.”

Silver gave a small, pained smile and looked away.

“I can’t make you wait for me,” he said. “I’m not going to do that.”

Scott responded quietly, with the calm certainty that only came from heartbreak wrapped in hope.

“You don’t have to. Because I know we’re gonna be together.”

Silver turned to look at him again. For a second, disbelief flickered across his face—but it softened into something warmer, something fragile and real.

“There’s no such thing as fate, Scott.”

Scott leaned forward, not pushing, just steady.

“There’s no such thing as werewolves either.”

A near-smile broke between them. Almost. They didn’t speak again. Instead, they sat there quietly as the sun dipped below the hills—fingers finding each other, lacing together, goodbye not spoken aloud but understood all the same.

🦎

The bedroom was half-emptied. One side of the room looked stripped bare—shelves cleared, drawers open, boxes half-packed like Silver had rushed through the process just to be done with it. He stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the stars as if they might offer more comfort than anything in the house ever could.

From the doorway, Allison lingered in silence before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I wanted to talk.”

Silver didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. He just kept staring out the window, as still as stone.

Still, she stepped inside. “I know sorry doesn’t fix anything,” she said softly. “But I mean it. I am sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

He let the silence stretch a little longer before answering—flat, cold. “You didn’t hurt me, Allison. You destroyed me.”

She flinched, visibly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut like glass.

“And I don’t care what Gerard whispered in your ear,” he continued, still not looking at her, “or what grief made you think was right. You made a choice. You picked a side.”

Allison’s eyes welled with tears, her voice cracking under the weight of guilt.
“I was angry. Lost. I didn’t know what else to do—”

“Then maybe say that,” he snapped, finally turning to face her, his eyes sharp and full of betrayal. “Instead of pretending this was ever about protecting me.”

The room pulsed with tension. Allison looked like she might collapse under it.

Silver took a breath. It didn’t calm him.
“We may be twins. Siblings. Family. But you are not my sister.”

Allison’s voice barely held together as she whispered, “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Silver didn’t flinch this time. He just walked past her, grabbing his duffel from the floor.
“You did.”

He left her standing there in the doorway, tears sliding silently down her cheek.

From the hall, Rachel’s voice called quietly,
“Car’s waiting.”

Allison turned to find Michael watching her from the hallway, expression unreadable. Their eyes met—but no words passed between them.

The family fractured again in the quiet moments that followed. Rachel walked beside her son. Argent locked the door behind them like sealing a chapter closed. Allison followed with her shoulders heavy, leaving only Silver behind.

He lingered in the hallway, frozen in place as his gaze fell on a photo frame on the wall—one of him and Allison as kids, laughing without weight or war.

Just for a second, he let himself look. Then, quietly, he turned away.