They did not want to speak to each other. In the dimly lit room, they each traveled to a corner on opposite sides and attempted to avoid eye contact, but there was just not enough to look at before their eyes would eventually meet.

The tension in the stare was palpable. Neither dared to break the gaze, fearing it might break the silence, but the sound of footsteps and indistinct voices urged them to reunite.

“Sylas…” Lennon’s voice was unfamiliar and cold. The words spilled out of his mouth and formed a puddle at his feet, burning through the ground. He was better off saying nothing at all. However, this word gave permission for more.

“What gives you the right?” Sylas whispered, angry and broken. “The right to speak my name?”

“You must know I only did it for you.”

“For me?!”

Lennon gave him a look to quiet down, but Sylas was in no mood to obey orders.

“You’re a filthy liar! I sacrificed my life!”

“They’ll hear you…”

“Let them hear! What’s it matter? They want to kill me either way.”

“I’ll talk to them. I’ll tell them to leave you be. It has nothing to do with you; these are my sins to die for.”

Without speaking, Sylas pulled a pile of letters from his pocket, held together by a rubber band. “Do you remember these?”

Lennon’s expression dropped. Did he remember them? All too well, and he knew exactly what was coming. “Don’t—” he tried to stop, but Sylas held up each letter one by one.

“July 17. July 18. July 19. July 20. July 21.” Sylas read the dates on each letter, throwing them to the ground afterward.

“Stop, stop,” Lennon begged.

“July 22. July 23. July 24. July 25.”

“Stop! Stop, I hear you!”

Tears threatened to escape his eyes as he ripped the last letter to shreds. “You didn’t reply. I thought you were dead!”

There was no silence. No, there were labored breaths and muffled sobs and the sound of an already broken heart disintegrating.

“If I had replied, Sylas—look at me.” Lennon reached for his hands.

“Don’t touch me.”

“If I had replied, they’d come looking for you.”

“I would rather that.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“Well, it’s too late!” Sylas’s voice cracked. “We’re meant to be family.”

“Yes, yes… I know. I’m sorry.”

They exchanged another look—one of desperation, acceptance, fear, and love. Without speaking further, Sylas fell into Lennon’s arms, and they embraced their final moments in each other’s grasp.