Something In The Way-SYLUS X MC X ZAYNE

V: "Let Down"

The loft felt colder than it should have, despite the fire crackling in the hearth. The warmth barely touched me as I sat there, my arms wrapped around myself, the weight of everything finally crashing down. The truth was unbearable, and yet, there it was—staring me in the face, unmoving, undeniable. My whole life had been stolen.

My grandmother. Caleb. My freedom.

Every ounce of loss, every drop of pain, traced back to the one thing I had no control over—the protocore. This thing inside me that had silently dictated my existence.

My chest felt tight, a pressure building as the memories flooded in, unrelenting. My grandmother's voice, her gentle hands, the way she used to hum songs that made the world feel safe—even as she grew weaker and weaker, even as she shielded me from truths I didn't know I needed to hear. And Caleb...

Caleb, who I had mourned, only to find him alive. Except the boy I loved, the one who had carried me on his shoulders and told me stories under the stars, was gone. In his place stood a man who looked at me with nothing but hatred, a man who wanted me dead because of the very thing I never asked for.

My vision blurred, and I blinked furiously, the tears threatening to spill. I refused to let them fall. Not yet.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him. Sylus. He stood near the fire, his red eyes fixed on me, unreadable but piercing. They seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, like embers that refused to extinguish. He said nothing, just watched, his arms loose at his sides, his posture relaxed but ready.

It infuriated me. How could he stand there so calmly, so composed, when my world was crumbling beneath me?

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice, but the words stuck in my throat. I wanted to confront him, to demand answers, to scream about the memory he had forced into my mind. A memory that didn't belong to me—yet felt so achingly familiar. But the thought of it, of saying it aloud, was too much.

My hands trembled as I clenched them into fists, trying to anchor myself. I felt Zayne before I saw him. His presence was quiet but steady, his warmth cutting through the suffocating cold.

He moved carefully, his hand brushing my shoulder. "Hey," he said softly, his voice a low murmur. "It's okay."

It wasn't.

I stiffened under his touch, shaking my head. "Don't," I whispered, my voice raw and fragile. "Don't touch me."

But Zayne ignored my protest. He stepped closer, his arms wrapping around me in a firm but gentle embrace.

"No," I gasped, my voice rising as I tried to push him away. "No! Don't—"

I hit him. My fists connected with his chest, weak at first, but then harder, fueled by the rage that had been bubbling under the surface. "Don't do this!" I yelled, tears streaming freely down my face now. "You don't get to act like everything is fine!"

Zayne didn't flinch. He didn't pull back. He just held me, his arms steady as I pounded against him.

"I've lost everything!" My voice cracked, and the words tumbled out in a rush, my fists growing weaker with each hit. "My grandmother... Caleb... my life. Everything I loved, everything I wanted—it's all gone because of this... this thing inside me!"

My legs buckled, and I collapsed against him, my sobs tearing through me. Zayne shifted, holding me upright, his hand cradling the back of my head as I buried my face in his shoulder. He didn't say a word, letting me break apart in his arms.

The loft was silent except for my cries, the sound of my anguish echoing off the walls.

And then, through the haze of my tears, I looked up.