Page 95 of Salem’s Rise

Some indication that he was thinking about what happened that night at the gala as much as I was would’ve been nice.

Maybe I imagined the way he’d looked at me afterward, like what had happened between us meant more than either of us wanted to admit. Maybe us sleeping together was just two stressed-out competitors blowing off steam before another deadly trial. After all, wasn’t that exactly what I’d told him?

Just sex. Nothing complicated.

Now we stand shoulder to shoulder on an abandoned colonial pier while the other competitors wait nearby in tense silence for the trial to begin. Salem’s Fall Harbor stretches into darkness beyond the old docks, black enough to swallow the horizon whole. Snow falls lightly from the darkened sky as the wind tears across the water with enough force to sting my cheeks, carrying the sharp scent of salt, frozen wood, and a hint of fear.

The summons had said something about the “West” and a trial of “Water.” By now, I know enough about the Veil to recognize the pattern and know my trial is going to be something terrible involving the harbor. I didn’t mind being underground in the tunnels, and I’ve never been afraid of heights, but deep water?

I shiver.

It’s embarrassing to admit, but I never learned to swim. My mother promised more than once to sign me up for lessons, but there was never enough money, or she forgot, or something else always got in the way. Eventually, I stopped asking.

So water… yeah, definitely not my favorite thing.

I steal a look at Silas to see if he notices my nervous fidgeting, but he isn’t looking at me. Actually, he’s doing some fidgeting of his own. Whatever effortless confidence usually surrounds him has thinned into something uncertain. I highly doubt someone as privileged and athletic as Silas would have the same problem with water that I have. The dude can probably swim miles underwater without taking a breath.

It makes me wonder if something else has gotten under his skin. If maybe I’m not the only one who’s spent the last three days overthinking things between us. The thought gives me courage to speak first.

“So…”

Brilliant opening, Jack.

“So,” he echoes.

The silence between us stretches into something uncomfortable.

“I haven’t heard from you since”—I shrug—“you know…”

“I haven’t heard from you either.”

Well. Fair.

“I wasn’t sure how you wanted this to go,” he adds, hesitating. His hand moves vaguely between us. “Afterward.”

Hope sparks stupidly inside my chest.

Maybe this is it.

Maybe he’s about to say he enjoyed that night as much as I had and he’s been thinking about it as much as I have.

Maybe—

“I thought giving you some space seemed… respectful.” He exhales slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I assumed you might regret it.”

The sentence lands like a slap.

That’s what he’s been thinking about for the last three days? He thinks I need distance? That I want to forget it happened? That I regret sleeping with him?

“Why?” My voice comes out in an embarrassing little croak, and heat climbs into my face despite the freezing wind. “Do you regret it?”

His brows knit together immediately.

“Of course not.” He hesitates, a hint of distance entering his expression. “But I don’t think we have to make more of it than it was. Nothing has to change between us.” His gaze shifts away from mine. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? A strategic partnership.”

The words crush something inside me. For a second, I can only stare at him, the humiliation almost worse than the hurt.

Nothing has to change?