Chapter 5: Cryptic Clues (Silas POV)

That encrypted message on my laptop is staring us down. “I know more than you guess,” it said, and it’s got us both freaked. Nico’s leaning over my shoulder, his breath fast, while I sit on the mattress, laptop balanced on my knees. The screen’s glow lights up his face, all sharp edges and scared eyes. My hands are sweaty, and I wipe them on my jeans, trying to stay calm. The loft’s a mess, same as before, clothes and cans everywhere, but it feels smaller now, like it’s holding its breath with us.

Nico’s phone buzzes on the table, and we both jump. He grabs it, quick, and his frown deepens. “Another one,” he says, voice low. He shows me the screen. It’s a text, no number, just words: “Look closer. 47 and ash meet. I’m in the frame.” My heart thumps hard. “What’s that mean?” I ask, taking the phone from him. He shakes his head. “No clue, but it’s them. The blackmailer.” I stare at the words, my mind racing. Fragments, clues, something to grab onto. We’ve got nothing else, so this is it.

I set the phone next to the laptop, pull it closer. “Let’s figure it out,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. Nico sits beside me, knee brushing mine. “Okay,” he says, nodding. “But it’s risky. We don’t know who’s sending this.” I get that, but we’re out of moves. “They’ve got us already,” I say. “Might as well try.” He doesn’t argue, just leans in, eyes locked on the screen.

We start with “Look closer.” I type it into the laptop, searching my files, anything tied to us. Nothing pops up. “Maybe it’s about the video,” Nico says, tapping the phone. I nod, thinking back to that night, us on the bed, the blinds cracked. “Could be a hint,” I say. “Like they’re in it somehow.” Nico’s eyes widen. “You mean someone we know?” My stomach twists. “Maybe,” I mutter, not liking where this is going.

Next part: “47 and ash meet.” I grab a notebook from the floor, a crumpled one with gig notes, and scribble it down. “47 could be a number,” I say. “Street, age, anything.” Nico frowns, thinking. “Ash could be a place. Like Asheville.” I nod, slow. “Yeah, or ash like burned stuff. Something dark.” We’re guessing, but it’s all we’ve got. “47th Street’s downtown,” he says, voice picking up. “There’s a bar there, shady spot.” I write that down too, my hand shaking a little. “Could be where they’re at,” I say, hoping it’s that simple.

Then the last bit: “I’m in the frame.” I stop, look at Nico. “The video frame?” I ask. He nods, fast. “They’re in the shot. Background, maybe.” I pull up the leaked clip on his phone, the one that’s wrecked everything. It’s blurry, us on the bed, but I squint at the edges. There’s the window, the blinds, and outside, a shadow. “There,” I say, pointing. “Someone’s out there.” Nico leans in, breath catching. “That’s them,” he whispers. “They filmed it.”

My chest tightens. “Someone close enough to know my place,” I say, voice low. Nico’s eyes meet mine, and I see the same thought hit him. “Who?” he asks, quiet. I think of Harper, her hard stare at the bar, her hate. Could she do this? Or someone else, someone watching us all along? “We know people around here,” I say, slow. “Too many.” Suspicion’s building, and it’s ugly, pointing at faces I don’t want to name.

“Let’s check 47th,” Nico says, standing up. “If it’s a spot, we go.” I shake my head. “It’s a trap, maybe. We can’t trust this.” He glares at me. “We can’t trust anything, Silas! But we’ve got to move.” I get up too, pacing now. “Fine, but we’re careful,” I say. “No rushing in blind.” He nods, but his jaw’s tight, and I know he’s scared as hell. I am too, but I don’t say it.

We sit back down, focus on the message again. “47 and ash meet,” I mutter, typing it into a map on my laptop. 47th Street pops up, a little dive called Ash Corner Bar. “That’s it,” Nico says, pointing. “Ash and 47.” My gut says it’s too easy, but my head’s spinning with names. Harper’s face sticks, then Jax from the bar, even Lena, Nico’s old dancer friend. “Someone who knows us,” I say, voice rough. “Someone close.” Nico’s quiet, thinking hard, and I hate this, hate doubting everyone.

I grab the phone, zoom into the video shadow again. It’s fuzzy, but there’s a shape, a jacket maybe. “That’s all we’ve got,” I say, frustrated. “A shadow and a bar.” Nico nods, slow. “It’s enough to start,” he says. “We go tomorrow, check it out.” I don’t like it, but I agree. “Yeah,” I say. “But we watch our backs.” He grabs my hand, squeezes it, and I feel that spark still there, even now.

We’re staring at the screen, piecing it together, when the laptop beeps loud. The screen flickers, and a new line of text starts loading, slow, like it’s decoding itself. “One last piece,” it says, and my heart jumps. “Come on,” I mutter, willing it to finish. Nico’s gripping my arm, eyes wide. The words creep out: “You’ll see me when—” and then nothing. The screen goes black, dead, shut down cold. “No!” I yell, smacking the side. It’s gone, power off, and that last clue’s cut short.

“What the hell?” Nico says, voice shaking. I try the power button, nothing works. “It’s fried,” I say, panic rising. “We missed it.” We’re stuck, one vital piece unread, and time’s slipping fast. Who’s behind this? That question’s burning now, and we’ve got no answer.