The Last Day: The Shadow of the Knight | 08
Chapter 8: Shadows of Despair
Silas stumbled back into the safe house, his body leaden with grief and exhaustion. Every step was a struggle, and when he finally crossed the threshold, it felt as though he’d left part of himself out there in the dark, standing on that empty doorstep, calling out for a family that no longer answered.
The silence of the room felt like a living thing, oppressive and heavy. Silas collapsed onto the small cot in the corner, his hands trembling as he buried his face in them. The weight of everything—the betrayal, the revelation of Steve’s secret identity, the nightmare of his powers, and now this—crushed him. The house had been dark, empty, a gaping wound where home used to be. And his mom... gone.
“Silas.” Steve’s voice was gentle but carried a gravity that demanded attention. He had followed closely behind, silent during their walk back, giving Silas the space he needed. Now, he stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.
Silas didn’t look up. He couldn’t. “I shouldn’t have left,” he choked out. “She was mad at me, and I just… I ran. I left her.”
Steve crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling a chair over to sit across from Silas. His expression was a mixture of sympathy and steely resolve. “This isn’t your fault.”
Silas laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and ragged. “Feels like it is. Every choice I’ve made since that night in the arcade... everything just keeps getting worse.”
For a moment, the room was filled only with the low hum of nearby machinery. Then, Steve leaned forward, his tone gentle but firm. “Silas, listen to me. Whatever happened, we’re going to figure it out. You’re not alone in this.”
Silas wiped his eyes, anger and despair warring within him. “She’s gone, Steve. What if it was the N.E.O.? I’ll never see her again.” His voice cracked, the words a raw wound.
Steve shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I don’t think it was the N.E.O.”
“How can you know that?” Silas demanded, his voice rising. “They make people disappear all the time.”
“I know,” Steve replied, the pain in his voice hinting at a long, bloody history with the organization. “But this doesn’t feel like their work. They’re brutal, yes, but they don’t usually act quietly in residential zones unless they’re sending a message. And when they do... it’s always public. This? This was surgical. Precise.”
Silas’s fists clenched. “Then who?”
Steve’s eyes hardened, and his voice lowered. “Kisonic Enterprises.”
The name hung in the air, heavy with menace. Silas stared at him, the pieces slowly clicking into place. “Doyle.”
Steve nodded. “It makes sense. Doyle knows you’re important—maybe he doesn’t know why yet, but he knows enough to take her. It’s leverage.”
“Then we find him.” Silas’s voice was raw, edged with fury. “We find him, and we make him pay.”
“We will,” Steve said, his tone steady and unyielding. “But we can’t just charge in blind. We need to know exactly what we’re up against.”
He stood, his movements suddenly precise and methodical. “I need to ask around. There are people nearby who might’ve seen what happened.”
“Like who?” Silas asked, his exhaustion giving way to a cold, sharp focus.
“Neighbors,” Steve said, already moving toward the door. “In places like this, people see everything—even when they pretend not to. Stay here. I’ll be back.”
“No,” Silas said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m coming with you.”
Steve hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But keep your head down.”
The narrow streets were dark, the occasional flicker of streetlights casting long, wavering shadows. Steve led Silas through alleys and side paths, avoiding main roads where prying eyes might linger. They moved quickly but quietly, every step deliberate. Silas could feel his heart pounding, a mix of fear, grief, and the need for answers driving him forward.
Their first stop was an old woman who lived across the street from Silas’s house. Her apartment was cluttered with trinkets and faded photographs, the air thick with the smell of lavender and dust. She peered at them suspiciously through a cracked door before Steve spoke softly, his tone respectful but insistent.
“We need your help,” he said. “You saw what happened earlier, didn’t you?”
The woman’s eyes darted to Silas, recognition dawning. She hesitated, then nodded, opening the door wider. The old woman stepped back, gesturing for them to enter. Her gaze lingered on Silas, a flicker of pity and uncertainty crossing her lined face. “Come in,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen too much. She settled into a worn armchair, her hands trembling slightly as they clutched at the edges of a thin shawl draped over her shoulders.
“I… I don’t know how much help I’ll be,” she began, her eyes clouded as if she were reaching back through the fog of memory. “But I’ll tell you what I saw.”
“Please,” Steve urged gently. “Anything you can remember.”
The woman nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on a spot somewhere distant. “It was late... just after dusk. I was by the window, like I always am.” She motioned to the small, lace-covered opening that faced Silas’s street. “There were men—three of them. They moved quickly, like they had a purpose.”
“Do you remember what they looked like?” Steve asked, his tone steady but coaxing.
She closed her eyes, as if searching the darkness behind her lids. “Dark coats... yes, dark, heavy coats. Hats pulled low.” Her voice wavered, and she opened her eyes, meeting Silas’s with a mixture of concern and regret. “I couldn’t see their faces well. But… one of them stood back. He didn’t move like the others. He was giving orders.”
“What else?” Silas pressed, trying to keep his voice from breaking. “Please.”
The old woman reached up, tracing a line near her temple with trembling fingers. “There was a scar… here. A deep one. He looked up for a moment, and I saw it. Cold eyes. He… he didn’t seem like the kind to get his hands dirty. Just the kind to watch.”
She paused, breathing deeply, as if the memory itself was tiring her. “They went inside. There was no noise… no shouting, no struggle. Just… silence.” Her eyes met Silas’s, glistening with unshed tears. “When they came out, they had her. She looked… limp, like she was barely awake.”
Silas’s breath caught, and he clenched his fists to steady himself. “Which way did they go?” he asked, his voice tight with desperation.
“East,” she whispered, the word carrying the weight of both dread and hope. “Toward the old industrial district. A black van… no markings.” She shook her head slowly, her frail shoulders sagging. “I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry, child.”
Silas wanted to scream, to demand more answers, but he forced himself to stay calm. Steve’s hand on his shoulder grounded him, a silent reminder that anger wouldn’t help. “Thank you,” Steve said, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve done more than enough.”
The woman nodded, her expression weary. “Find her,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. “Make them pay for what they did.”
Back on the street, Silas’s mind raced. Anger, fear, and desperation swirled inside him, but Steve’s presence beside him kept him focused. They would find her—no matter what it took.
Back at the Safe House
Silas sat on the edge of the worn couch, fists clenched, staring at a crack in the wall as if it might split open and swallow him whole. The room felt too small, too silent, every moment stretching out painfully. He wanted to scream, to rage, to do something—anything—but all he could do was wait.
He heard the door creak open and snapped his head up. Steve stepped in, his expression unreadable. Silas’s
eyes met Steve’s, searching for any sign of hope, any hint that the nightmare might be over. But Steve’s face was a mask—calm, controlled, giving nothing away.
“You found anything?” Silas demanded, his voice rough with desperation. He stood abruptly, unable to sit still any longer. “Did you—did you find her?”
Steve took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “I’m working on it. There are... leads.”
Silas’s frustration boiled over. “Leads? That’s all you’ve got? She’s out there, and we’re just—just sitting here?”
Steve closed the distance between them, his voice low but firm. “I know you’re scared. I know you want to tear the city apart looking for her. But right now, I need you to listen to me.”
Silas opened his mouth to protest, but Steve cut him off. “If you go out there, charging in blind, you’ll get yourself killed—or worse. We can’t afford that. Your mom can’t afford that.”
The words hit Silas like a punch to the gut. He sank back onto the couch, his anger replaced by a wave of helplessness. “Then what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait?”
Steve’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained measured. “I know it’s hard. But I need you to trust me. Let me handle this. I’ll get the answers. I promise.”
Silas looked away, jaw clenched. “You’re not telling me everything, are you? You’re hiding something.”
Steve didn’t deny it. “There are things you don’t need to know right now. Things that would only make this harder.” He paused, letting that sink in before continuing. “What you need to know is this: I’m going to do whatever it takes to find her. No matter what.”
Silas searched his face, looking for any cracks, any sign of doubt. He found none. “How can you be so sure?”
Steve stepped back, his movements controlled and precise, as if every action was calculated. “Because I’ve done this before. I know how people like Doyle operate. I know where to push, where to dig.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “And I know how to make them talk.”
Silas swallowed hard. He didn’t want to think about what that meant, what Steve might do. “You really think it’s Doyle?”
“It’s a strong possibility,” Steve said, his voice tight. “But I won’t know for sure until I dig deeper.”
Silas nodded reluctantly, feeling the weight of the situation settle back onto his shoulders. “So what do I do?”
“Rest,” Steve said simply. “You’ve been through a lot. You need to be ready for whatever comes next. If I find out Doyle’s involved, it won’t end with information. There will be a fight.”
Silas’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “I want to help.”
“I know.” Steve placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but not harsh. “You will. But not like this. Not when you’re running on fumes and anger. Trust me to do my part.”
There was a long silence, filled only by the low hum of the machines in the room. Finally, Silas nodded, though it felt like a hollow gesture. “Fine.”
Steve gave a small, tight nod. “Good.” He turned toward the door but paused before leaving. “I’ll be back.”
With that, he slipped out, the door clicking shut behind him. Silas stared at it for a long time, feeling the void left in Steve’s absence. He hated waiting. But deep down, he knew Steve was right. Charging in blind wouldn’t save his mom—it would only make things worse.
So he did the hardest thing he’d ever done: he stayed behind and waited, hoping that Steve—no, that Iron Knight—would be able to do what he couldn’t.