Chapter 26
After Rue rejected The System without a hint of hesitation, the glowing orb fizzled out in frustration, vanishing for good—or at least, it hadn’t shown up since. And Rue? She didn’t give a damn. The System had never been some kind of magical cheat code. If anything, it felt more like a 24/7 surveillance drone breathing down her neck.
Just as she was getting ready for bed, her phone buzzed. It was a voice message from Wren.
“Ruru! You better not bail on me tomorrow night. There’s a special event at the bar, and I expect your ass in the front row!”
Rue laughed and sent back a GIF of a nodding cat. Time and place confirmed.
The next night, as soon as Rue pushed open the bar door, a burst of confetti exploded above her head with a loud pop.
“Surprise!”
Wren jumped out from behind the bar in a sequin crop top, grinning like she just got away with murder.
“Got you the VIP booth, front and center. You’re welcome.”
Before Rue could object, she was shoved into a plush corner sofa seat, only to realize Silas was already there, half-hiding in the shadows like a socially anxious vampire.
He wore a pale gray button-up shirt, collar stiff and buttoned all the way to the top. The moody bar lights made him look painfully out of place.
By now, Rue had stopped being surprised when Silas showed up anywhere Wren was. It was like a package deal—loud sister, silent brother.
Wren plopped down between them, holding a fruit platter, then leaned over Silas and started blinking at him like she was trying to Morse-code him into action.
Silas cleared his throat awkwardly and pushed a cold glass of lemonade toward Rue. “It’s iced. Helps with the heat.”
Rue took a sip. “Thanks. So… what’s this special event you hyped up?”
The lights dimmed just then.
Before Rue could process it, Wren grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the stage.
“Kill some time for me—sing a song!”
Rue sighed and grabbed the mic, catching a glimpse of Silas, now seated dead center, straight-faced, hands folded in his lap, eyes fixed on her like she was the only thing in the room.
Wren slid into the seat next to him, muttering in exasperation, “You know I just handed you a golden opportunity, right? Are you seriously not gonna confess?”
Silas fidgeted. Just hearing the word “confess” turned his ears pink.
Wren clicked her tongue. “Guess I’ll have to do it myself.”
As the last note of Rue’s song faded out, Wren stormed the stage holding an obnoxiously giant bouquet of champagne-colored roses.
The petals brushed Rue’s cheek as Wren shoved a velvet box into her hands.
“Hold this for my brother real quick!” she yelled into Rue’s ear. “He’s got something to say!”
Rue blinked in confusion, glancing down at the box, then up—just in time to see Silas stumble toward her, shoved from behind.
His usually composed face was flushed, his eyes shiny, almost panicked.
“You’ve been drinking?” she asked, catching the heavy scent of whiskey clinging to him.
Wren had clearly spiked him to give him the guts to finally speak.
Silas suddenly grabbed her wrist. “Rue, I…”
A blinding flashlight clicked on. Wren had somehow produced a literal spotlight and pointed it straight at them.
Dust floated in the beam like they were about to perform a Shakespearean tragedy.
Silas winced and turned his face away.
“Jesus, just say it!” Wren hissed from behind the bar. “It’s not like she’s gonna bite your head off.”
The whole bar fell into a weird hush. All eyes were on them.
Silas swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and finally blurted, “Rue, I like you. A lot. Will you be with me?”
Rue froze.
Then, gently, she set the roses on the floor and pulled him into a hug, his arms stiff and trembling.
His eyes lit up like Christmas morning—until she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “I’m sorry, Silas.”
His stomach dropped. He forced a shaky breath and laughed it off, pressing the velvet box into her hands.
“My bad,” he murmured. “Consider it an apology.”
Inside the box was a delicate ginkgo leaf brooch, the veins inlaid with tiny diamonds.
Then came the crash.
Shattered glass. A bottle dropped.
At the bar’s edge, cloaked in the shadows beyond the neon lights, stood Julian Carter.
At his feet lay the ruins of a whiskey bottle, and the wreckage on his face was even worse.
