The Weight of Silence
POV: Silas
Location: Belmont, Detroit
Time: The Morning After the Alley Fight
I didn't sleep much.
The hours bled together—twitching in and out of shallow, sweat-drenched naps, never fully unconscious, never fully awake. My body felt like it had been dragged across gravel. Every breath hurt.
When morning finally came, it didn't bring relief. Just shines light to expose the bruises.
I sat at the edge of the couch for a long time, staring at the belt.
It was still wrapped around me.
Still quiet.
Still pulsing.
The same slow rhythm, like it was alive—or responding to me. I didn't know which was worse.
Eventually, I peeled it off.
It didn't resist. No buzzing, no flashes. It just... let go. I set it on the coffee table and stared at it like it might twitch. It didn't. Still, I couldn't bring myself to leave it alone. Not yet. Not when it felt like every answer I needed was sitting right there, wrapped in shadow and questions.
My side still ached where the shadows had blocked that knife. The bruise was there—but faint. Too faint. Not fresh enough for something that happened just hours ago.
I got up, moved slow, made coffee. Burnt toast. Rubbed the side of my ribs again just to check. The skin was sore, but no deep cut. No swelling. Just leftover pain.
Adrenaline?
Shock?
Or something else?
I sat with the coffee for twenty minutes before I finally got the courage to dig back through the box Micah's dad had left me. Books. A cracked phone case. A couple shirts. And the USB.
I plugged it into my laptop.
It loaded with a weird delay—five full seconds of nothing. Then folders appeared. One labeled Project SHDW. Another marked Legacy_1A. And a text file named simply: "READ ME FIRST."
I clicked.
"If you found this, I'm either in hiding or dead. Sorry, man. I didn't want to pull you into this. I really didn't. But if you're seeing this... I guess there was no other option."
"There's stuff here you won't understand yet. Stuff I didn't understand until it was too late. The belt doesn't belong to me. Or you. But it chose me anyway. Just like it might choose you. And if it did, you're going to feel things. See things. Don't ignore them. Don't fight it. Just... stay alive."
I reread it three times. Each time slower.
So, he knew.
Micah had known something about the belt. About what it could do. Maybe even about that place it had dropped me into—the shadow realm or whatever it was. This wasn't just some weird accident or science fiction experiment gone rogue. He'd been using it. Hiding it.
Living a life I never saw.
And now it had passed to me.
The words in the note didn't confirm anything. Not really. But the implication was there, wrapped in guilt and desperation: if the belt chose me, it's because Micah can't use it anymore.
Because he's dead.
And he's dead because we were both in that car.
My hand went to my chest again, over the place where my new heartbeat steady.
Could it be that?
Did the belt respond to me... because part of Micah was still inside me?
That didn't sound right. Didn't sound logical.
But nothing about this was.
By late afternoon, I couldn't sit still anymore.
I left the apartment—hoodie up, gloves on, no destination. I just walked. Tried to breathe. Tried to feel normal. It didn't work. Every person who passed me looked like they could vanish into shadow. Every alley felt like it was holding its breath.
And the bruises that should've lasted a week?
Mostly gone.
By evening, I found myself standing at the campus registrar's office. The girl behind the glass looked up from her screen.
"You here to drop classes?" she asked, half-bored.
"No. Just... a temporary leave. A week. Maybe more."
She handed me a form. I filled it out with trembling hands.
Name. Student ID. Reason: Medical.
I didn't elaborate.
Back in my room that night, I packed light. A few shirts. One hoodie. Phone charger. Headphones. The belt.
I wrapped it in an old shirt and buried it deep in my bag. I didn't want to bring it. But I didn't trust leaving it behind.
If someone broke in—if it went missing—I couldn't explain that. Hell, I couldn't explain it if I kept it either. But at least I'd have eyes on it.
As I zipped up the bag, I took one last look around the apartment.
It felt like something had been broken open. Like my life had cracked in the middle and the air was leaking out.
I needed to go home.
Not to run. Not to hide.
Just to remember who I was.
Because right now?
I wasn't sure anymore.