POV: Silas (First Person)
Setting: Morning – Dorm Room, the day after the cathedral battle
The pain didn't hit until I rolled off the bed.
My ribs screamed. My back ached like I'd gone three rounds with a truck. Every inch of me throbbed, bruised or sliced in some way. The fight with Grimm hadn't just left scars—it had dug trenches into my body.
I stumbled into the dorm bathroom, flicked on the tap, and splashed cold water on my face. My reflection looked like a ghost. Pale, bruised, blood dried along my jawline.
Behind me, the TV volume rose.
"This is a special news bulletin from Good Morning Detroit…"
I wiped my face and leaned against the sink, listening.
"Following last night's armed raid at the historical Oak Cathedral, over 200 individuals—believed to be connected to the now-confirmed cult known as the Followers of Grimm—were taken into custody. Over fifty civilians were rescued, with multiple wounded survivors and officers transported to area hospitals."
I turned around. On-screen, the field reporter stood outside the cordoned-off ruins of the cathedral. Yellow tape fluttered behind her. Police moved civilians through the crowd. A few officers stood guard near black vans.
"Authorities say the vigilante known only as 'Sentinel' played a key role in the takedown, engaging the cult's leader—who was later confirmed deceased at the scene."
"The police department has not released an official comment regarding the vigilante's continued presence, but anonymous sources confirm the operation would've likely failed without him."
Then came the public reactions.
"We needed someone like him. The cops couldn't get in there fast enough. My niece was tied to a pillar. She would've died if he hadn't shown up."
"He's not some masked thug. He's a damn hero."
"He's out there every night, who knows what else he's stopped that we haven't heard about."
A voice behind me muttered, "Damn. You're one headline away from getting a statue."
I turned. Devon stood at the door, orange juice in one hand, half-eaten donut in the other.
He took one look at me and winced.
"You look like a car accident in sweatpants."
"Thanks," I said, dropping onto the couch with a grunt.
Devon walked over, plopped down beside me, and offered me the rest of the donut. I took it.
"So… what now, O Shadowy Savior of the West Side?"
"Now? I heal. I sleep. I maybe eat something that doesn't taste like pain."
Devon just chuckled.
POV: Whitlock (Third Person)
Setting: Internal Affairs Hearing – Afternoon
Sergeant Danielle Whitlock stood at attention.
The room was quiet. Tense. Across from her, seated behind a long desk: Commissioner Briggs, her captain, two Internal Affairs officers, and a tall, sharp-suited rep from the mayor's office.
No one was smiling.
Briggs leaned forward, folding his hands.
"Sergeant. You allowed a masked vigilante to engage over a hundred armed suspects in the field—on a site with hostages and active shooters. You then let him walk. Care to explain why you thought that was acceptable procedure?"
Whitlock didn't flinch. She kept her posture straight.
"I didn't allow him. He was already there. And without him, we wouldn't have gotten within ten feet of that cathedral without civilian casualties. We didn't find Grimm. Sentinel did. We didn't take him down. Sentinel did."
One of the IA officers frowned.
"You're justifying unregulated interference from a non-sworn individual with no chain of command, no liability coverage, no legal standing—"
"And yet," Whitlock cut in, "we saved over fifty civilians. We didn't lose a single officer. That doesn't happen without his involvement."
The mayor's rep leaned back in his chair.
"The city's press is all over this. The public loves the mask. That doesn't mean we do. This sets a dangerous precedent."
Whitlock's captain finally spoke.
"She made a judgment call. A solid one. The guy's no angel, but we were outnumbered, outgunned, and out of time."
Commissioner Briggs stared at Whitlock.
"You're being placed under internal supervision. No suspension. But everything you do goes through your captain. You don't move unless he signs off."
Whitlock didn't blink.
"Understood."
POV: Silas (First Person)
Setting: Sunset – Campus Bench
Amy found me on the old bench behind the science building.
The orange sun bathed the walkway in warm light. Birds chirped. Students passed, laughing about something meaningless. And I sat there, hoodie on, bruised up, sore as hell. She didn't say anything at first. Just sat beside me.
After a moment, she glanced my way.
"You know, I should be mad. You disappear for two days, come back looking like death, and then I find out you've been fighting cultists on Channel 9."
I sighed. "That's not—"
"I'm not done," she said, but she was smiling.
"I'm not mad because I know you'll just tell me everything's going to be fine. And I'll probably believe you."
I looked at her.
"Amy—"
She grabbed my hand.
"Just promise me you're not going to die. I don't think I could handle that."
I squeezed her hand gently.
"I'm not dying. Not now. Not when things are finally… starting to feel right."
She leaned her head on my shoulder.
"You're an idiot."
"Takes one to love one."
Scene 4 – Celebration
POV: Silas (First Person)
Setting: Night – Bar Downtown
Devon dragged us both out to a local spot. Half dive bar, half neon-lit lounge. College students filled the booths. A live DJ spun relaxed tracks.
"To fewer cultists," Devon said, lifting a drink.
Amy raised hers. "And one less psychopath in a robe."
I grinned. "And to us, not dying."
They laughed.
I even smiled, genuinely.
We danced. Just a little. Amy's hands wrapped around my neck, mine at her waist. Devon stood at the bar recording the whole thing on his phone like a proud parent.
Scene 5 – Morning After
POV: Silas (First Person)
Setting: Silas and Amy's dorm, morning after
I woke up to sunlight pouring in through the cracked window blinds. My eyes opened slow, like the world had to reassemble itself around me first. The covers were tangled halfway off the bed, my arm wrapped loosely around Amy's waist.
For a few seconds, I didn't move. Just listened to her breathing. Just felt… peace.
Then her eyes blinked open.
She looked at me. I looked at her.
And we both said it at the same time.
"...We really did that, huh?"
She laughed, curling into the pillow. "Don't act so surprised. You've been flirting with me since forever."
"You started it," I shot back, rubbing my eyes. "With all that soft-touch concerned talk like, 'Are you okay, Silas?' 'Promise me you won't die, Silas.' Girl, what did you expect?"
"I expected a kiss. Maybe a goodnight cuddle." She smirked. "Not—well—whatever that was."
"A full-blown third-act scene in a rom-com?" I grinned.
"Exactly."
We both cracked up. I sat up against the headboard while she rolled onto her stomach, pulling the sheets up over her bare back.
"You good?" she asked.
"Surprisingly, yeah. Not limping. Not bleeding. Not having a nightmare. Feels… weird."
She propped herself up on one elbow. "That's what peace feels like. Get used to it."
"Not sure if I know how," I admitted.
She smiled. "You'll learn."
There was a long pause—comfortable silence. The kind where you don't feel the need to fill it.
Then Amy stretched and slid off the bed, the sheet wrapped around her like a makeshift robe. "Alright, I'm going to go take a shower before I start smelling like you."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," I smirked.
She shot me a look over her shoulder. "Hold your horses, cowboy. Let a girl breathe first."
I laughed and laid back, folding my arms behind my head. But then—of course—the universe remembered it owed me a problem.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Mom.
Great.
I picked it up and answered. "Hey, Ma."
Her voice came in quick and full of authority, like she was already mid-conversation. "Silas, pack your bags. You and I are going to New York."
I blinked. "Wait, what? Since when?"
"Since your cousin Michelle decided she's getting married at the end of the month. I already bought our tickets. We're staying for the month to help with planning."
"The whole month?"
"Yes. And don't complain. Your big brother is the best man and already over there. The middle one got stationed out of town for a company deployment. You're the only one left who can help me wrangle your Aunt Adjoa before she turns the wedding into a Nollywood drama."
I sighed. "Do I even have a choice?"
She replied in a rush, "Nor na me born you so u nor get choice."
(No, I gave birth to you so you don't have a choice.)
"I'll text you the flight details. We leave in two days. Pack something nice."
Click.
She hung up on me.
I tossed the phone onto the mattress and sat there staring into space like I'd just been drafted.
Amy stepped out of the bathroom a few seconds later, towel around her, drying her hair.
She glanced at my face. "You look like you just got sentenced."
"I kinda did," I muttered. "Apparently, I'm going to New York for a month. Family stuff. Cousin's wedding. Mom's orders."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh damn."
"Yeah."
We looked at each other.
Then both of us burst out laughing.