Evelyn woke to warmth.
For a moment, still tangled in the edges of sleep, she thought she had only dreamed it. That the weight pressing the mattress beside her was nothing more than the echoes of longing she had carried for so long. But when she opened her eyes, the truth held.
Silas was still there.
He lay on his back, one arm bent at the elbow, resting near his face. The early morning light crept in through the curtains, casting him in soft lines, turning the shadows under his jaw into gentle contours instead of sharp edges. His hair was a dark mess across the pillow, strands falling loose over his forehead.
Evelyn didn't move at first. She stayed still, watching him breathe, the rise and fall of his chest steady, calmer than she had ever seen him. Last night's words flickered in her mind: You're not crazy. Not anymore.
She swallowed, her heart swelling with something she couldn't name. Gratitude, maybe. Or the fragile bloom of trust, so rare it almost hurt to feel it.
Carefully, she shifted onto her side, her cheek brushing against the pillow, so she could see him more clearly. He looked younger in sleep, less guarded. As if the knives didn't exist for him in this moment, as if the shadows that trailed him had loosened their grip.
Her lips curved into a faint, private smile. She had never shared a bed with anyone before—not really. Not like this. There had been no safety in her father's house, no softness in her stepmother's care. At the hostel, her bed had always been hers alone, her only companion the constant hum of other lives moving just beyond thin walls.
But here… here she wasn't alone.
She tucked the blanket tighter around herself, reluctant to break the spell. But as the sun stretched higher, she shifted again, just enough to make the mattress dip.
Silas stirred.
His breath caught faintly, and then he opened his eyes. Hazel, sharp even through the haze of sleep. He blinked at her, confusion flickering for the barest second before he remembered. Before the walls settled back into his gaze, though not as impenetrable as usual.
"Morning," she whispered, her voice small.
He hummed low in his throat, not quite answering, but not pulling away either. He stretched, wincing slightly as the bandage around his ribs pulled, then settled back against the pillow. "You're staring," he muttered, though his tone was soft.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling instead. "I wasn't."
"You were."
A pause. Then, unexpectedly, a hint of amusement colored his voice. "I don't mind."
Her stomach flipped. She pressed her lips together to hide the smile threatening to rise.
For a long time, they lay there in the quiet. The knives weren't silent—never truly silent—but they were muffled, almost dulled in the presence of each other. And for once, the silence wasn't suffocating. It was something she wanted to stay in.
Eventually, Evelyn shifted again, pushing herself up. "I should… make breakfast."
Silas sat up more slowly, careful of his side. "You don't have to."
"I want to." She hesitated, glancing at him. "Besides, you need to eat. You lost blood last night."
He didn't argue, which felt like its own small miracle.
--- ✦ ---
The kitchen felt different with another person in it. Evelyn moved around the counters, pulling out eggs, bread, a little butter. Her movements were clumsy with nerves, but there was a strange thrill in it—cooking with someone else nearby.
Silas leaned against the counter, watching. His presence filled the small space, steady and grounding. He didn't speak at first, only tracked her movements with that sharp gaze of his.
"You're making me nervous," she muttered, cracking an egg into the pan.
"Why?"
"Because you're just… standing there. Judging my cooking."
"I'm not judging."
She shot him a skeptical glance.
His lips twitched. "Much."
Evelyn huffed a laugh despite herself, shaking her head. "Great. My first guest, and I'm about to poison him."
"After last night, breakfast is the least of my worries," Silas said, his voice low but almost teasing.
Her chest warmed. It was strange, hearing him like this—less guarded, his edges softening enough to let something lighter slip through.
They ate at the small table by the window. Toast, scrambled eggs, tea. Simple, but it felt like more than she had ever had. Evelyn tried not to rush, tried to let herself sit in the moment. The sunlight streaming in. The scrape of forks. The quiet rhythm of another person sharing the table.
For once, she didn't feel like she was pretending to be normal.
--- ✦ ---
After breakfast, Silas insisted on helping with the dishes. Evelyn tried to argue, pointing to the bandage around his ribs, but he only gave her that look—steady, immovable. So they washed side by side, bumping shoulders every so often in the cramped kitchen.
When she laughed at how awkwardly he dried the cups, he scowled. "Not my fault. I don't do this often."
"You don't do dishes?"
He shrugged. "Don't usually stay in one place long enough."
Something in her chest tightened. She slowed her movements, the warm water rushing over her hands. "Do you ever want to? Stay, I mean?"
Silas was quiet for a moment. His gaze flicked to the window, out toward the street. "Sometimes."
Their eyes met then, something unspoken hanging in the air. Evelyn looked away quickly, her cheeks warm.
--- ✦ ---
The rest of the day unfolded in small, ordinary moments. Evelyn showed Silas the creaky window in her bedroom, the one that stuck whenever she tried to open it. He fixed it with quiet efficiency, his hands steady, his focus sharp.
She caught herself watching him again, the way his hair fell into his face, the concentration in his brow. He looked so solid, so real, in the light of day.
Later, she made tea, and they sat in the living room. Evelyn curled up on the couch, her knees tucked beneath her, while Silas sat on the other end, one arm draped along the backrest.
It should have felt strange, having someone here, taking up space in her sanctuary. But it didn't. It felt… right.
They talked, slowly at first, then more freely. About books they had read, music that helped drown the knives, the little things that had helped them survive. Evelyn told him about the café where she had worked, the smell of coffee and the ache in her feet at the end of long shifts. Silas admitted he used to sketch, though he hadn't picked up a pencil in years.
Every word felt like a step closer, like peeling back layers of armor one at a time.
--- ✦ ---
As dusk fell, the house grew quieter. The light outside dimmed to a soft violet, shadows stretching long across the floorboards.
Evelyn sat with her legs curled beneath her, her shoulder brushing Silas's where they sat on the couch. The silence had shifted now, no longer awkward but heavy with something unsaid.
Her hand rested on the cushion between them, inches from his. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, the steady presence that steadied her in ways she hadn't known she needed.
Silas shifted slightly, his hand brushing against hers. Not quite touching, but close enough. Close enough that her breath caught.
She turned her head, meeting his gaze. Hazel eyes, darkened by the fading light.
Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
For Evelyn, it was enough—just this. To not be alone in her house. To not be alone in her skin.
For the first time in years, maybe ever, she let herself believe she wasn't.
--- ✦ ---
The late summer sun had climbed high by the time Evelyn convinced Silas to go outside with her.
"Ice cream," she had said, tugging lightly at his sleeve. "Come on, when was the last time you had something sweet that wasn't just… tea or black coffee?"
He'd given her a flat look, but she caught the way his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. "I don't eat ice cream."
"You don't—?" She gasped in mock outrage, placing a hand to her chest. "That's practically a crime. You're coming with me."
And somehow, he had.
Now, they sat side by side on the stone steps of a little corner shop, Evelyn with a dripping cone of mint chocolate chip, Silas with vanilla that he'd insisted on and was pretending not to enjoy.
"You like it," she teased, pointing with her chin to the way he'd already eaten half.
Silas lifted a brow. "It's… tolerable."
She laughed, the sound light and unguarded. "That's the highest compliment I'll ever get from you, isn't it?"
"Probably."
The warmth of the day, the sweetness of the ice cream, the rare easiness between them—it felt almost normal. Evelyn leaned back on her palms, tilting her head toward the sky. For a few moments, she let herself believe this could last. That the world wasn't as dark as it had been.
But then she saw him.
At first, it was only a flicker of movement across the street. A figure standing too still. She squinted, her laughter faltering.
And then the details sharpened: a man in his fifties, tall but slightly stooped, his hair streaked gray, his mouth twisted into a smile that didn't belong in daylight. His eyes were locked on them—on her.
Evelyn's cone slipped in her hand, a rivulet of melted mint trailing down her wrist. "Silas."
The shift in her voice was enough. He followed her gaze instantly. His body went rigid.
Across the street, Edgar smiled wider. A predator's grin. Then—he began to move.
"Run," Silas said, his voice sharp, low.
Evelyn was already on her feet, her heart slamming against her ribs. She dropped the ice cream and bolted, Silas right beside her. Behind them, the sound of footsteps—measured, heavy, steady—echoed across the pavement.
They darted into a narrow alley, Evelyn's breath coming too fast, too shallow. Silas grabbed her hand, tugging her forward. "Keep moving."
The world blurred into brick walls and shadows. Evelyn could hear Edgar's footsteps chasing, growing closer, deliberate as if he already knew he'd catch them.
Her lungs burned. Her vision tunneled. The knives in her head roared.
Silas yanked her behind a dumpster, pressing her back to the wall, shielding her with his body. He held a finger to his lips. Shh.
Evelyn tried to quiet her breathing, but panic clawed at her chest. Her hands shook uncontrollably, her throat tight. She couldn't get enough air.
He's coming. He's coming. He's going to kill us.
Her knees buckled. Silas caught her before she hit the ground, his hand firm on her arm. "Evelyn, look at me."
She couldn't. The edges of her vision blurred, the sound of blood rushing in her ears too loud.
"Evelyn!" His voice cut through the noise, sharp, steady. He tilted her face toward his, forcing her eyes to meet his. Hazel, unflinching. "Breathe. With me. Right now."
He inhaled slowly, exaggerated. Held it. Released. Did it again.
Her chest heaved, resisting, but she clung to his gaze like a lifeline. She tried to follow. In. Hold. Out. Her breath hitched, but gradually, slowly, it matched his.
"Good," he murmured, softer now. "That's it. Stay with me."
The footsteps stopped.
Both of them froze, straining to listen. The alley was silent but for their breathing. Evelyn could feel Silas's heart pounding against her arm, though his face remained composed.
Then—a chuckle. Low, cruel, echoing off the walls.
Evelyn's stomach dropped.
The sound faded. Footsteps retreated, slow and deliberate, until even the echoes dissolved into silence.
They stayed pressed against the wall, waiting, neither daring to move. Minutes crawled by, heavy and suffocating.
Finally, Silas exhaled, his shoulders lowering a fraction. "He's gone."
Evelyn shook her head violently. "No. No, he's not. He's out there. Watching." Her voice trembled, raw. "He smiled at us, Silas. He—he knows—"
"I know." His hand was still on her arm, steadying her. "But he didn't get us. We're alive. You're alive."
Tears burned her eyes. She pressed her palms against her face, fighting the shudders coursing through her body.
Silas didn't let go. He stayed crouched beside her, silent, solid, the one anchor in the spinning storm.
And though fear still coiled in her chest, though Edgar's smile still seared into her mind, Evelyn clung to that anchor.
She wasn't alone.
Not anymore.