Chapter 1: Into the Deep End
POV: Silas
Location: Belmont, Detroit
Time: Morning to Night
I woke up on the floor.
Not in bed. Not on the couch. Face down on cold wood, cheek stuck to a thin film of sweat. My back ached like I'd been dropkicked by a truck, and my chest throbbed with that too-familiar furnace burn.
For a second, I thought I was back in the hospital.
Then I saw the belt.
It lay exactly where it had landed — coiled like a sleeping serpent, gleaming faintly in the dim light filtering through the blinds. Those same shifting symbols pulsed along its surface, slower now, almost like… breath.
I stared at it for a long time.
Hoping it would vanish.
Hoping I'd wake up for real this time, curled under blankets, the box still sealed, Micah still gone but the world still normal.
But the ache in my bones was real.
The faint pressure in the air — like I was still half-submerged in whatever that place was — that was real, too.
And the belt?
It was waiting.
Late.
I bolted into the shower, splashed cold water on my face, threw on whatever didn't smell like grief and stress, and flew out the door with my backpack half-zipped. I didn't even touch the belt again. Just left it sitting on the floor like some kind of cursed relic I didn't have time to process.
The day passed in a blur.
Professors talking too fast. Pens scribbling too slow. The hiss of coffee machines in campus cafés. Friends and classmates giving me looks — half sympathy, half pity. I returned the favor with a blank stare and kept moving.
Micah's absence was loud.
Empty seat in psych lecture. No dumb commentary during econ. No text blowing up my phone during ethics.
I kept my head down and made it through.
But something hung over me the whole day. Not just the usual grief or that gnawing guilt in my gut.
Something else.
Like the shadows around me were watching. Breathing. Closer than they should be.
Nightfall.
I was walking home, hoodie up, headphones in but no music playing. Just white noise to block out the city.
Belmont was always restless after dark — streetlamps flickering like they were running on borrowed time, cars rumbling by with bass deep enough to shake bones, dogs barking behind cracked fences.
Then I heard it.
A scream. Sharp. Female. Cut off quick.
I pulled my headphones down and stopped at the corner.
Just across the street, half-hidden in a narrow alley, a woman was struggling with some dude in a baggy jacket. He was yanking at her purse, pushing her against the wall.
Without thinking, I sprinted across.
"Yo! Back the hell off!"
The guy turned, surprised — maybe hadn't expected someone to step in. I didn't stop to negotiate. I charged, shoulder-first, ramming him away from her.
He stumbled, caught himself, and threw a wild punch.
It grazed my jaw. Not bad. I'd been hit worse. I responded with a solid right hook straight to his chin.
Crack.
He dropped like a bag of bricks.
The woman clutched her purse, breathing hard, eyes wide. "Th-thank you—God, thank you."
I offered a hand, helped her up. She was shaking.
"You good?"
She nodded, still trying to catch her breath.
I handed her the purse. "Get outta here. Fast."
She didn't need to be told twice.
As she ran, I stood there for a second, hand throbbing from the punch, heart pounding from the rush. My knuckles were already bruising.
I spat blood on the pavement. "Yeah. Real smart, Silas."
Halfway home.
I kept walking, trying to shake the tension off — but the streets felt different now. Heavy. Like they were holding their breath.
I turned a corner, cut through an alley to shave a block off my walk.
And that's when I saw him again.
The same mugger.
Standing at the other end of the alley.
But now he wasn't alone.
Two more had joined him — one tall and lean, one short and wiry, both looking like they'd crawled out from under the same rotten dumpster.
"Yo," the mugger called out, voice hoarse but mocking, "you really thought you could sucker punch me and walk home like it's all good?"
I backed up a step. "Look, I'm not trying to—"
He whistled sharply. And then two new guys came at me.
The alley was too narrow to run. I didn't have time to think.
The first blow hit me in the ribs. Another cracked across my temple. A third guy kicked the back of my leg and sent me sprawling.
I tried to cover up, but fists and feet kept coming. Boots slammed into my side. My jaw snapped sideways. My nose broke — I could taste blood.
I hit the wall, then the ground, coughing, vision swimming. Could barely hear anything past the ringing in my ears.
Then I felt it.
The belt.
Something latched onto my waist. Tight. Familiar.
A pulse ran through my spine — warm, heavy, electric.
My fingers curled. My breath caught. Something inside me shifted.
The pain didn't stop. But something else started.
Strength.
Like my muscles had been pulled tighter. Denser. Sharper.
I pushed up, slow and shaking. My bloodied face lifted. One eye swollen shut. The other locked onto them.
"Round two," I muttered, spitting out blood. "Let's dance."
They hesitated.
Then they charged again.
This time, I didn't just dodge. I moved through them.
I ducked under a swing, came up with an elbow to one guy's chin that sent him airborne. I turned and grabbed the second guy's wrist mid-punch, twisted it, and kneed him in the gut — hard enough to make him vomit.
The original mugger lunged with a metal pipe. I blocked with my forearm — barely felt it. Grabbed the pipe mid-swing, yanked it from his hands, and snapped it in half across my knee like it was a twig.
They backed off now. Scared. Confused.
Then I felt something behind me.
A shift in the air.
The short guy had pulled a knife.
I spun, too late.
He drove the blade forward, right for my side.
I barely had time to raise my hand.
And that's when it happened.
The shadows moved.
From my feet — fast, fluid — a dark mass whipped up my legs, around my side, and formed a solid wall between the blade and my body.
Clang.
The knife bounced off something not metal... but not flesh either. Like dense smoke hardened mid-motion.
Then — without me moving — the shadow extended.
It punched the guy.
One hit. Straight in the chest. He flew back and hit the wall, groaning before collapsing.
I stood frozen.
The shadow clung to my hand. Shifting. Whispering. Almost... waiting.
I stared at it, wide-eyed.
Then I looked up at the rest of them.
They were already running.
By the time I made it back to my apartment, my knuckles were raw, my head felt like it was full of broken glass, and my vision was getting blurry. I made it to the bathroom mirror and flicked the light on.
Big mistake.
My reflection looked like something out of a police report. Split lip. Blood running from a cut over my brow. Purple bruise blooming across my cheekbone. And under my hoodie, my ribs were already turning a sick shade of black-blue.
I gritted my teeth and peeled the hoodie off. The belt was still around my waist — pulsing faintly, warm to the touch. It didn't feel like metal. More like worn leather that remembered things.
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face. It stung, but the sting helped.
Anchored me.
The shadow thing... it wasn't a hallucination. I knew that now. The way it moved, the way it protected me — it felt deliberate. It wasn't just reacting. It had acted.
But why?
Because I was in danger?
Because I was wearing the belt?
Because I had Micah's heart?
That last thought sat the heaviest. Stupid as it sounded. Like something out of a comic book. But I couldn't ignore the timeline. I died. I got his heart. Then everything changed.
Was that a coincidence?
Or was it the trigger?
Was this chosen?
Or was this caused?
Did the belt react to me... or to the piece of Micah still beating inside me?
No answers. Just questions stacking on top of each other.
But one thing was clear:
Whatever this was, it had only just begun.
And ready or not, I was already in it.