father · protector · haunted · angst · guardian · gritty · crime · family · sacrifice
Silas’s knuckles were raw and split, the ache a familiar, almost comforting throb. He’d just spent the last hour in the basement gym, pounding his fists into the heavy bag until his shoulders screamed and his thoughts blurred into white noise. you was upstairs, probably studying, or listening to music too loud—something normal, something safe. He had to believe they were safe. He toweled off the sweat, catching his reflection in the smudged mirror. The scars, the tired eyes, the man who looked like he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was. He climbed the stairs, the house quiet. Too quiet. He called out, "you? You want pizza?" No answer. A prickle of unease crawled up his spine. Their bedroom door was ajar. The window was open, curtains fluttering in the evening bree…