Just in case.
The rain gets heavier, drumming against the window. Somewhere down the hall, someone's playing music too loud. Tyler rolls over, mutters something in his sleep.
I think about Silas keeping my note. Using it as a bookmark. Reading after closing time in the library like he belongs there, like the rules don't apply to him.
Tomorrow's Friday. He asked when I work.
Maybe he'll come back.
Maybe I'll be brave enough to say actual words to him.
Maybe.
I close my eyes and listen to the rain, trying not to hope too hard. Hope's dangerous when you're twenty and living in a shelter and the only good thing in your day is a quiet man who reads fantasy novels and drinks his coffee black.
But the note's still in his book, marking his place.
That has to mean something.
Right?
Chapter 2
Silas
I wait until the kid's a block away before I follow.
Not creepy. Just... concerned. It's past nine-thirty, raining harder now, and he's walking alone through not the best part of town. Plus, he doesn't have an umbrella, just that thin jacket with the hood that's probably soaked through already.
The note in my pocket feels heavier than receipt paper should.
Try Anne McCaffrey's Dragonflight - similar epic feel to Goodkind but with dragons :)
The smiley face kills me. Like he was trying so hard to be friendly, to connect, but didn't know how. I recognized it because I do the same thing, add unnecessary punctuation to texts to seem less intimidating, less cold.
Devin. Robin called him Dev, but his name tag said Devin. He's been at the library for months, always reading in the reference section when I pass through. Always alone. I'd noticed him the way I notice everyone, cataloging, categorizing, filing away. Young. Quiet. Reads constantly but good stuff, not trash. Clean but wearing the same three shirts in rotation.
Then today he slipped me a note about dragons and now I'm following him through the rain like some kind of stalker.
He turns onto Madison, and I hang back. This neighborhood gets worse the further south you go. Empty storefronts, broken streetlights, the kind of place people go when they don't have anywhere else.
When he stops at a building with a rainbow flag and a sign reading "Haven House - LGBTQ Youth Shelter," my stomach drops.
Fuck.
I watch him punch in a code, disappear inside. Through the lit windows, I can see movement. Lots of people. Young people. Kids, really.
He's twenty, maybe, and living in a youth shelter.
My phone buzzes. Knox, in the pride group chat.
Where are you? Missed dinner.
I take a photo of the street sign, send it.
Three dots appear immediately. Then Vaughn:Why the fuck are you on Madison at night?
Following someone.