Page 248 of Fractured Allegiance
The fork feels heavy when I pick it up. I stab a piece of egg, shove it past the knot in my throat. My jaw works harder than it should. I can feel Silas watching. I don’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes.
“Plans,” Elias says, finally breaking the weight. He sits across from me, steam rising from his mug, his stare unblinking. “Drazen won’t let Bellamy slide. We hit him hard, he lost men, and he lost his leak. He’ll want to remind us who owns the city.”
I swallow hard, the food turning to ash in my mouth. My pulse stutters, not from Elias’s words but from the shift across the room—Silas finally pushing off the doorframe, stepping closer.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. The room tilts when he moves.
Elias notices. Of course he does. His eyes flick to Silas, then back to me, and his smile comes thin across his face. “What is this, Ward? You trying to stare her into submission?”
Silas stops behind my chair, close enough that the heat from him seeps into my back. His voice scrapes low, even. “I don’t need to.”
The words drag across my skin, more intimate than a hand, more dangerous than any gun. My grip tightens on the fork until the metal bites my palm.
Elias’s smile fades. Mara touches his arm lightly, a small anchor against the storm I can feel swelling in the room. He doesn’t soften much, but enough to look back at her before he sets his mug down hard.
I keep my eyes on the plate, pretending the eggs taste like anything but ash.
And then Silas leans just enough for his sleeve to brush my shoulder when he straightens. Barely a touch. A passing shadow of one. But it jolts through me harder than any bullet last night.
Elias sees it. His stare slices to me, then to him. His tone is flat, dangerous. “You keep this up, Ward, and I’ll start to wonder if you’ve forgotten whose roof you’re standing under.”
Silas doesn’t blink. “I haven’t forgotten a thing.” He straightens, eyes cold, fixed on Elias. “The difference is, I don’t mistake obsession for ownership.”
The line cuts through the kitchen sharper than glass.
No one speaks after that. The toast goes cold. The coffee steams between us like smoke on the edge of a fire we’re all waiting to see ignite.
The air curdles in the silence that follows Silas’s words.
Elias leans back, one hand curling slow around his mug. Mara lays a piece of toast on his plate without looking at him, as if the act itself might stop the kitchen from detonating.
I force another bite of egg down, just to keep my hands busy. The scrape of the fork against porcelain sounds louder than it should. My stomach knots tight around every mouthful, but I don’t stop. I can’t give either of them the satisfaction of watching me break.
Then the burner on the counter buzzes. Not loudly. Just a sharp, insect hum that cuts through everything.
Elias's eyes flick to it. Mine do too. Silas doesn't move right away, but his body shifts like a shadow knows it's being watched.
The phone keeps buzzing. Steady. Inescapable.
"Yours," Elias says finally, his tone laced with contempt. "Answer it."
Silas steps forward, past my chair, and picks it up. His thumb swipes across the screen. "Ward."
I can't hear Naomi's voice clearly, but I recognize the sharp, clipped cadence even through the tinny speaker. She's pressing him again—harder this time, if the way his jaw locks is any indication.
"You'll get what you need when I'm ready to give it," Silas says, his voice stripped down to cold steel.
Whatever she fires back makes his shoulders go rigid. His free hand curls into a fist at his side.
"I told you what I told you," he says flatly. Then, after a beat: "I'm not asking for permission."
The line clicks dead.
Silas sets the phone down like it weighs more than the building. For a second no one moves.
Elias watches him with that predator's stillness, the kind that precedes violence. But he doesn't speak. Doesn't taunt. Whatever he saw in Silas's face was answer enough.
The silence stretches until Mara clears her throat and reaches for the coffee pot.
