15. Mira– Falling a Lil More
1511 Words
Outside, the air was crisp and bright, Seattle doing its best impression of calm normalcy. I checked my phone again.
Five minutes out, Silas had texted.
My heart immediately picked up pace.
I leaned against the brick wall outside the studio, pretending to be casual while absolutely not being casual.
Chandra stirred."We like waiting for him, she said softly. Anticipation suits us."
“I know,” I spoke to her in my mind. “It’s ridiculous how fast this happened.”
It is not ridiculous, she replied firmly. It is right.
I closed my eyes briefly. Thought of Silas’s steady presence, the weight of centuries in his gaze, the quiet pain he carried so carefully.
“It must be so hard for him,” I whispered. “Holding everything together. Losing a brother he loved but never knew and carrying guilt that isn’t his.”
Chandra’s presence wrapped around my heart, warm and fierce.
That is why we stand beside him. Wolves do not leave their wounded.
I smiled faintly. “Where should we take him today?”
Somewhere bright, she said. Somewhere human. Somewhere that reminds him the world is still worth protecting.
I was just about to answer when I felt him before I saw him.
The air shifted with the smell of ocean breeze and the world narrowed. Silas stepped into view at the end of the street, dressed simply today— black jeans with Gray tight fitting t-shirt and a black leather jacket with boots.
Chandra sighed dreamily - God he look even more handsome in his regular clothes.
His eyes found me instantly and softened. A small smile appeared on his face and he crossed the distance like it mattered.
“Good morning, my Mogra,” he said, voice low and warm.
I smiled so hard my cheeks hurt. “Hi.”
For a moment, we just stood there, grinning like fools.
“I missed you,” I admitted.
His thumb brushed my wrist, light but grounding. “I’ve been counting minutes.”
Contentment bloomed in my chest—gentle, deep and real.
I hesitated, then asked quietly, “What happened last night?”
His expression shifted—just a fraction.
He exhaled. “Nothing I want to bring into today.” Then he asked softer, almost hopeful tone “Can we stay in our bubble for a bit Mira? Just today?”
Chandra begged me “Please say yes”
Relief washed through me. “Yes. Please.”
He smiled—bright and grateful. “Good.”
Then he tilted his head. “Would you let me steal you for a few hours? There’s a place I love. One of the few in this city that still feels… unchanged.”
I didn’t even pretend to think. “I’d love that.”
We walked toward my car—a small, cheerful red Beetle parked down the street.
Silas paused, amused. “That’s yours?”
“Yes,” I said proudly.
“It’s… charming.”
I laughed. “DanPa gifted it to me for my birthday. He repaired it himself, all because a few years back I saw a picture of a red beetle and said its damn beautiful.”
Something softened in Silas’s eyes at that. “He loves you very much.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “I’m lucky.”
As we climbed in and the engine hummed to life, I felt it again—that sense of balance, of rightness. For a few hours, at least, the world could wait.
And as I pulled onto the road, Silas beside me, sunlight glinting off the windshield, Chandra murmured contentedly: Enjoy, Mira. We have time. Today belongs to us.
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The moment we stepped into Gas Works Park, my breath caught.
The place was a marvel—an unusual blend of rusted metal and sunshine-dappled grass, old industrial towers standing like giant sculptures against the blue of Lake Union, kids sledding is the snow-clad hilltop and laughter floating on the breeze.
Silas walked beside me—quiet, at ease in a place unlike any other I’d ever been.
“Here,” he said, gesturing towards the rusted structure and Union Lake behind it, with a gentle smile, “is one of my favorite spots in this city.”
We strolled along the wide roads with snow beneath our feet, the remnants of old gasification structures looming like ancient sentinels. Snow rolled almost to the edges of a large, manmade mound—the kind of place people comes for picnic because the rare Seattle Sunrays danced with joy up here.
I looked at him curiously. “Why here? What makes this place so special to you?”
Silas paused beside one of the old towers—metal beams and pipes, rusted from years of weather, oddly beautiful in their own way.
“This used to be a gas plant,” he began softly, eyes distant. “I was one of the founders.”
I blinked at him. “Founder?”
He smiled wryly. “Yes. Hardly a romantic beginning.”
I laughed.
“Well,” he continued, his gaze reflecting the sparkling lake, “I wasn’t always the Vampire King you met. I was… younger. Less burdened, perhaps. I saw potential here—more than most did.”
My head tilted.
“I was one of the benefactors who supported the City Council to buy this land back from industrialists – again me.” he laughed. His voice was calm and rich with memory. “But it wasn’t enough to simply own it. I watched it become a wasteland—a place no one cared about.”
I stopped beside him, drawn in.
“Everyone expected it to be scrapped clean, forgotten,” Silas said. “But I proposed to our council that something different could be done here. A park. A place where people could gather, laugh… find peace near the water. I argued that we should preserve the structures. Not because they were beautiful—but because they tell a story… of industry, change, and renewal.”
I let my fingers brush a cold metal pipe—smooth yet worn by decades of rain.
“And I was the one who decided to shut down the operations when it became clear the plant was doing more harm than good,” he continued quietly. “That decision wasn’t easy. It costs people jobs. It changed economies. But I believed the future should be healthier… for humans, for nature, for all of us.”
I turned to him. His eyes weren’t fierce—they were gentle.
“After we secured the land,” he said, “I fought to convince our leaders to turn it into a public space. Seattle was resistant at first. But over time, and after many long nights advocating for it… the council agreed.”
He exhaled—like revisiting the past was both painful and precious.
“We transformed this wasteland into beauty. In 1975, we opened it to the public. And every time I come here, I feel… hope.” He said earnestly “You know I met our werewolf king — Cassian Hayes — here at the inauguration. He was just a 14yo boy accompanying his father.”
I realized then why he chose this place for our day together.
Chandra said, He chose this place well. Not just for its views but for its story. This place knows what it means to survive, she murmured. To be used. To be poisoned. To be abandoned… and still be chosen again.
I smiled softly, my heart full. “Thank you for bringing me here,” I whispered.
Silas turned toward me, eyes warm. “I wanted you to see where hope can grow,” he said. “Not just in ruins. But with them.”
We walked further, settling in a glass gazebo that seems to have been installed recently, with an old view of the downtown skyline across the lake. The air was gentle, the sun warm without heat.
He produced a small picnic from his bag—spread a blanket with a club sandwich, mulled wine in a thermos and some cut fruits, thoughtfully arranged.
We ate quietly at first, watching people laugh and enjoy the day. Then, with a shy smile, I said,
“I’m content. I didn’t know a place could feel… alive with history and peace at the same time.”
He laughed softly. “That’s the magic of reclamation.”
I scooted closer, the warmth of Silas’s strong shoulder steady beneath my cheek. The wind tugged at my hair, carrying laughter. “And that’s what you and I are doing,” I teased gently. “Taking what was broken and finding happiness in it.”
His gaze softened. “Yes,” he murmured. “Exactly that.”
I rested my head on his shoulder, heart warm and light under the Seattle sky.
For the first time in a long while, both of us felt simply happy…and entirely at peace.
- Writer
