Oliver Fleming was almost a carbon copy of his father, Ford Fleming.

The man stood a few inches shorter than his son, his jet black hair peppered with gray streaks. His stubble was dark, concealing the lower half of his face, and his dark eyes framed by wrinkles.

"Son," Ford spoke, his deep voice vibrating through the air, "it's been a while. Come give your father a hug."

He held his arms out as the agents surrounding him for protection parted to give way to Oliver, who stood still, his feet anchored to the ground. The scowl on his lips deepened.

Ford, noting his resistance, dropped his hands back to his side, adjusting his tie, his expensive suit speaking volumes about his reputation: Ford Fleming was a very valuable man. The leader of Arc. The second most powerful agency in the world, a few steps behind G.O.L.D.

"I'm not here for games, Father. Will you help us or not?" Oliver stood protectively in front of Silas and me, though I was sure it was subconsciously. He knew I didn't need protection.

I looked at Silas, who was not reacting the way I thought he'd be. He was standing close to me, his expression stern and fearless, as if he wasn't scared of the dozens of agents in the warehouse who were ready to fire at us if necessary.

"You didn't even introduce me to your friends," Ford kissed his teeth and sauntered towards us, his sly smile growing when his eyes met mine, and something shifted in his expression.

"Zara Dubois. Good to see you're alive." He stuck his hand out for me to shake, but Oliver interjected, shoving him away.

His father seem unfazed. He looked at Silas, amusement playing in his eyes. "Who's this? He's clearly not an agent. So what is he doing here?"

Ford's men closed in on us, two of them strolling to our sides and attempting to place their hands on Silas's arms to refrain him.

Oliver and I both stepped in his direction, but we froze when we saw Silas kick one of the men in the ribs and elbow the other one in his face, resulting in a cracking sound and blood streaming down the agent's nose.

He smiled smugly at both of us, and Oliver and I shared shocked looks. The training was paying off. A part of me, no matter how annoyed with him, was impressed.

The agents, furious, charged towards him again, but were stopped by Ford's bellowing voice.

"That's enough. I take my words back." He smoothed his jacket and turned to his son, not without offering me a cunning smile. "You should have never left us."

His tone was now serious, void of any humor. "You could have done incredible things at Arc, son. But you left because of one stupid grudge."

Oliver laughed mirthlessly and rolled his eyes. "It wasn't a grudge, Father. You're a monster, and monsters can never be family."

Ford shook his head in disappointment. "You're just like your mother."

Oliver's jaw clenched at the mention of his mother, but he remained calm. I knew that mentally, he was counting his breaths. It's how he kept himself serene, and he needed to do it now more than ever.

"Will you help us or not?" I found myself speaking in his place, causing all eyes to turn on me. I stepped forward, my stone expression not phasing Ford Fleming.

"Because and only because this matter threatens our power, I will provide you with supplies," he began, stepping closer to me so that we were only inches away. His gaze made my skin crawl. "But we are staying out of this matter. It does not concern us."

"Of course it concerns you." My voice was low, rumbling in my throat like a growl, "if Harris gets what he wants, you won't have anything left. You'll either die or work for him. Your choice."

Ford cursed under his breath, aware that I was right. He scowled. "I'll give you ten of my men. Weapons and any gadgets you need."

"You won't join the party, father?" Oliver piped up, "you're a coward. Some things never change."

Ford chuckled, looking between Oliver and me. "I'm not a coward. I value my life is all."

His words, though they shouldn't have, sent shivers down my spine. He was smart to stay out of it, but at the same time, it meant he was no better than the men we were to destroy.

"Zara, if you ever choose to, you're welcome to join Arc. There's always a spot open for someone of your caliber." At this point, Ford was making it his point to make Oliver's blood boil. And he was succeeding. A shadow cast over his son's expression. "You can work right by my side if you'd like." He winked, and I snapped.

My gaze met Oliver's, and he nodded, well aware of the silent question my eyes had asked.

In one swift motion, I brought my hand up and slapped the man in front of me, the sound echoing in throughout the warehouse, bouncing off of the walls and back to our ears. Ford stumbled back, his hand holding his crimson cheek.

The agents stepped forward in synchronization, but stopped when their leader held up his hand. The pain on his face lasted only seconds before he nodded slowly.

"Does that answer your offer?" I turned around and strolled back to Silas's side, whose mouth hung slightly open.

"Badass," he whispered, and for some reason, I found myself suppressing a smile.

Oliver followed my trail. "You deserved that one," he spat at the irritated man, "thanks, Father."

His voice was lacking gratitude; rather, it was laced with accusations as the three of us walked out of the warehouse, taking backpacks full of supplies from the agents at the door.

"Why do we all have daddy issues?" Silas questioned as we walked away from Arc and towards the two motorcycles awaiting us. Oliver and I, despite the dire situation, found ourselves laughing.

"He's..." Oliver shook his head, strapping on his helmet, "he's not a good man."

Silas nodded; I could tell that he was holding back questions. The truth was, so was I. I didn't know much about his past, but something told me I didn't want to know.

"Good job back there, Simon," Oliver nodded towards Silas, throwing a helmet his way. He caught it effortlessly, a cheesy grin gracing his lips. "Your hook can use some work, but we've got time."

Silas looked like a child who'd just received a golden star in class.

I watched in confusion as Oliver sat onto his bike and started the engine, without waiting for Silas to get on with him.

He knew that things were awkward between the two of us, so I'd asked him to drive Silas. But now, he looked like he was ready to leave without him.

"Wait, I'm not riding back with you?" Silas asked, struggling to adjust his helmet.

Winking in my direction, Oliver revved the engine. "You two need to figure your shit out. Meet you back at the apartment."

With just those words, Oliver drove off, leaving a tornado of dust flying where he once was.

I groaned inwardly and sat onto my own bike, ignoring Silas as he slipped onto the vehicle, snaking his arms around my waist. I felt his heart beating through his chest, pounding against my back, and instantly I felt uneasy.

Right as I was bracing to drive off, Silas hopped off of the vehicle. He looked conflicted as he removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair.

"What the hell are you doing?" I sneered, following him off of the vehicle. I trudged towards him, pushing his chest back with my hand. For some reason, I was furious. Every emotion, not since the night on the bridge, but since the day he'd walked into my life, rushed into my body, and I'd mistakened it all for anger.

Silas stumbled back, but regained his composure. He pressed his lips into a thin line and peered down at me, head cocked to the side.

"What did I do?" His words were not gentle, but they were angry. A tone I'd never heard from him.

Silently, I found myself walking backwards until my back hit the body of the motorcycle. Each noise being emitted from the city and the forest beside us became mere buzzing to my numb ears.

My heart begged me to allow it to leap out of my chest, the wind blew furiously against my hair, as if I was the one to have threatened it.

"What did I do, Zara? I thought..." he closed his eyes momentarily, and when he reopened them, ribbons of gold within green were set ablaze, "I thought we were friends."

Again, I charged towards him, punching his chest repeatedly. It wasn't to hurt him; I wasn't trying to inflict harm. I just found myself acting like a child. The emotions I could not voice came out in the form of punches against Silas's chest.

"I hate you! I don't know..." it felt as if I was hyperventilating, "I hate you, Silas Bridges."

Finally, his hands flew into the air and wrapped around mine. He stared down at me through concerned eyes, and never had I seen him so assertive. Powerful. And I didn't like how it was making me feel.

"No you don't," his voice was deep, raspy as his anger subsided and a look of realization dawned on his face, "you don't hate me."

Without letting my hands go, he scanned my face for answers. His emerald eyes were bright in the darkening night, boring into mine with passion and emotions I did not want to place.

My world seemed to be spinning; I felt dizzy, even though my feet were anchored to the ground.

"Zara," Slowly, he parted his lips, and one word tumbled out of his mouth,  "Breathe."

Just like that, the walls I'd spent too long trying to rebuild came crashing down. One word, and tears sprung into my eyes. One word, and my mother's voice returned to my mind.

"Breathe, Zara," she'd say. And ever since she'd been gone, it felt as if I'd been holding my breath.

Until now. Until Silas. Until he unraveled me with one single word.

I brought my hands up again, but instead of hitting him, I took the fabric of his tshirt into my fists and held onto it, as if I'd crumble into the ground and shatter into pieces if I didn't. My shoulders fell as I buried my face into his chest, which felt firmer than ever before.

Silas's timid hands ran through my hair as I cried into his chest, as I exposed my vulnerability to a boy who shouldn't have been in my life to begin with. But then and there, I felt like he'd keep it a secret.

His arms tightened around me, so tight that a little more force would have made it hard to breathe.

"It's okay, Zara," he whispered, his voice soft like a lullaby, his hands remaining entangled in my hair, "I won't leave you. I promise."

He extinguished the fire burning within me with words straight from his heart, and at that moment, I didn't want him to leave me, at all.

"This is a new tshirt and you're ruining it--" he attempted to joke, but I smacked his chest, keeping my face buried into his shirt, which was now soaked with tears. His cologne overwhelmed my senses, but I didn't lift my head up.

"Shut up for once, will you?" I mumbled against his body, which rumbled with laughter.

He'd made me a promise, and I found myself aching to remain in his embrace for longer. For reasons that I, at the time, did not want to understand.

The promise that Silas made to me was the only one I ever wanted anyone to keep.

But I knew that in the game that we were playing, someone was destined to lose.

(A/N)

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