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Chapter 8 - Chapter 8:spell hell:S.I.L.A.S

It was broad daylight when all hell broke loose inside the Red Veil Casino.

A stiletto-heeled scream split the air before the first shot fired — then another, louder, closer. The roulette wheel kept spinning, chips clattered to the floor. Someone slipped in their own spilled cocktail.

And then—

BANG.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

A rain of bullets cracked across the red velvet chaos. Screams turned primal. People ducked under tables, others stampeded over each other, faces blanched in horror. Security scrambled, drawing weapons too late.

Silas stepped through the mayhem like a phantom dressed in black. Calm. Straight-backed. Eyes dead cold. Behind him, Jace — dark-skinned, stone-faced, chain wrapped tight around his knuckles like a death bell — and Allen, blonde, smirking, rolling a toothpick between his teeth as he fired casually at a guard rushing toward them.

"Down!" someone screamed.

But it was already too late for most.

Silas moved like oil across glass — smooth, quiet, deadly. He disarmed a guard with one sharp twist of the wrist, slammed him into a poker table, then drove a knife straight through his collarbone with a whisper of a grunt.

Jace ducked a bullet and swung his chain hard — it cracked through the air and found flesh. A sickening smack. The man dropped, screaming, clutching a bloodied cheekbone.

Allen tackled two guards at once, his lean frame deceptive. He took a bullet to the shoulder but barely flinched, headbutting one into the corner of a slot machine. It sparked and screamed in digital agony.

"It's them! Call someone—!"

Silas raised his arm and shot the screamer in the leg. The man hit the ground, clutching his thigh.

Glass shattered. Another blackjack table flipped. Blood streaked across plush carpet. Civilians screamed as they scattered, some hiding behind pillars, others crawling beneath staircases. Someone yelled for their mother.

And still, through the slaughter, Silas kept moving forward.

Past the bar, past the tortured screams from the backrooms. A door slammed open up ahead—Zayne McQueen, sweat-slicked, panic on his face, clutching a golden cane he didn't need.

The man bolted.

"He's on the run!" Allen growled, reloading.

Silas didn't answer. He was already sprinting.

Zayne's guards tried to block the hallway — one raised a pistol. Silas slide-tackled into his knees, rolled, and came up swinging. Gun gone. Throat crushed. One more kick — back against the wall, lifeless.

Jace followed without a word, chain now bloodstained and wrapped back around his wrist like a promise.

Allen brought up the rear, breathing hard but grinning like a devil in heat.

Zayne burst onto the top floor. The emergency stairwell rattled behind him as he shoved the door open. His fancy shoes slipped on the gravel-lined rooftop.

Silas emerged seconds later.

Dust blowing in the wind. Distant sirens beginning to rise. Screams still echoed from down below.

Zayne backed toward the edge, breath hitching. "D-Don't—don't do this. Tell Jean-Luc I can fix it. I'll—I'll pay back triple. Just give me—"

Silas pulled out a folded piece of paper from his coat. Let it drift in the wind.

"Jean-Luc says your credit's expired."

Zayne's knees buckled. "Please…"

Silas pointed over the ledge. "Jump."

Zayne shook his head wildly. "What?"

"You want me to do it?" Silas raised his gun slowly, like a bored teacher lifting chalk.

Zayne turned toward the edge. Looked down. The casino courtyard. A valet car. A woman staring up, screaming.

He closed his eyes.

Then—

He jumped.

CRACK.

His body bounced off the hood of a luxury sedan. Metal crunched, windshield shattered. The crowd screamed. Phones out. Some ran. Some vomited.

Panic exploded across the block.

Up on the rooftop, Silas watched from the edge — face unreadable. Then he turned, coat flaring slightly, and walked back through the rooftop door.

By the time the police arrived, the Red Veil Casino was drenched in smoke, blood, and ruin.

And Silas? Gone without a trace.

The Uber stopped right where the balloons fought for space with the smoke from a roasting grill. Somewhere, someone was playing an old Tiwa Savage song too loud, and two kids were pretending to faint for laughs.

Sage stepped out, sunglasses on, holding a gift bag and wearing that kind of shirt that said I wasn't trying, but I win anyway. A few aunties paused mid-laugh when they saw him.

"Ah ah, Sage! You're still fine like this?"

"Is this not the one Devon used to bring around during COVID times?"

"He's taller now o!"

Devon's mom pulled him in for a hug. "You're late. The kids already destroyed two cakes and a trampoline. Devon's upstairs pretending to hate joy. Go check on him."

"Will do." Sage smiled, but the warmth didn't reach his eyes.

Inside, the house was a happy kind of chaos—cheap streamers, high-pitched laughter, and little feet thundering on tile. But upstairs? Quiet. Like a grudge was waiting.

Sage knocked once on Devon's door before cracking it open. "Hey. Your nephew's learning how to swear with rhythm."

Devon stood shirtless, in nothing but briefs, near the window. Arms crossed. Looking like someone sculpted him out of mood swings and gym hours.

He didn't smile. Didn't turn. Just said, "Hey."

Sage stepped in. "Happy birthday to the kid, by the way. I brought something for him and something for you." He wiggled the bag.

Silence.

"I came to tell you what Quinn found on the—"

"I know," Devon cut in. "She already told me."

That took Sage off guard. "Right. Great communication, love that."

Devon didn't move.

Sage walked further in, voice sharp now. "So are we just gonna do this thing where you ice me out every time someone breathes in my direction?"

Devon turned slowly. "That wasn't someone breathing, Sage. You shoved that guy at the mall like you were about to kiss him or kill him. And the way you looked at him..."

Sage blinked. "You were watching me?"

"I was passing by. Saw the whole damn thing. And don't pretend like you didn't like the way he looked at you after."

Sage laughed, but it was mean. "Wow. You're jealous of a dude I shoved into a flower stand?"

"You touched him," Devon snapped. "I've been with you for months and I don't get that kind of fire. Not like that."

Sage's jaw clenched. "You think I want him?"

Devon didn't answer.

"Devon, that guy could've been anyone. I was on edge. I'd just seen something wrong. I reacted. That wasn't lust, that was instinct."

"Still looked like it mattered to you."

Sage narrowed his eyes. "So what is this really about? Control? Insecurity? Or are you just pissed I finally started showing heat without you pulling the trigger?"

Devon looked at him, cold. "Maybe I don't like realizing I'm not the only one who knows how to get under your skin."

Sage was about to answer—something nuclear—but a knock interrupted them.

Devon's mom peeked in, holding a plastic drone with little propellers still spinning. "Sorry to interrupt all this dramatic tension, but the boys kept fighting over this thing and I took it. I'll leave it here."

She stepped in, then paused when she saw Devon's nearly naked state.

She looked at Sage. Then back at Devon. Raised an eyebrow.

"It's not what you think," Devon said flatly.

"Oh, darling." She smirked. "I'm not thinking, I'm knowing. Sage, don't kill my son."

She placed the drone down and left without another word.

The silence afterward was loaded.

Then the drone beeped. Its screen flickered.

Sage turned toward it, drawn by the sound. Footage started playing—a shaky recording, likely from earlier today, from way above the city.

Grainy rooftop.

Two figures.

One unmistakable.

Silas.

Standing at the edge of a high-rise rooftop. Gun in hand. Expression unreadable.

Across from him, a man—blond, terrified.

Zayne McQueen.

The drone caught the moment right before Zayne jumped.

No sound. But Sage felt the scream anyway.

Devon came closer, the anger evaporating off his skin. All that was left now was disbelief.

Sage touched the screen. "This… this wasn't in the reports. There were no witnesses. No footage. No nothing."

Devon was quiet. "Well, now we have something."

The two locked eyes. A quiet knowing passed between them.

They didn't need to talk anymore.

The game just changed.

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