The silence didn't last.
It couldn't.
Because something inside him refused to stay quiet.
Locke stood frozen.
Not by choice.
Not by calculation.
But because moving had become a negotiation he was no longer winning.
His right hand twitched.
His left hand tightened.
Still holding.
Still restraining.
Still—
Opposing.
"Release."
The command came out sharp.
Controlled.
But strained.
Nothing happened.
A breath.
Then—
"No."
Locke's jaw locked.
That voice—
Clear.
Immediate.
Unafraid.
"You're compromising function," Locke said coldly. "This inefficiency benefits neither of us."
A pause.
Then—
"You call it inefficiency."
A shift in his chest.
Subtle.
But there.
"I call it stopping you."
Locke's fingers curled harder, nails biting into his palm.
Pain.
Grounding.
Necessary.
"You don't understand the situation."
"I understand enough."
His left hand pushed—
Not hard.
Not violently.
But deliberately.
Locke's body stepped back again.
His breath hitched.
"Stop moving."
"Then stop trying to leave."
The words settled heavy between them.
No distortion.
No separation.
Just—
Conflict.
Locke's gaze snapped toward the door.
Still closed.
Still within reach.
Still—
Denied.
"…You think staying here changes the outcome?" Locke asked, quieter now.
"Yes."
Immediate.
Certain.
Another step back.
Locke's pulse spiked.
That was three now.
Three steps away from control.
Three steps away from—
No.
His right leg surged forward suddenly.
Forced.
Violent.
A correction.
His body lurched—
Balance snapping off-center—
His left leg resisted—
Too slow—
Too late—
Locke hit the edge of a console hard, catching himself with one hand.
The impact rattled through him.
But even that—
Even pain—
Didn't align properly anymore.
"…this is deteriorating faster than expected," he muttered.
"Then stop."
"Not an option."
"It is."
His left hand tightened again.
Harder this time.
Almost—
Desperate.
Locke stilled.
That—
That wasn't calculated.
That wasn't controlled.
That was emotion.
"…you're afraid," Locke said quietly.
Silence.
Then—
"Yes."
The honesty hit harder than resistance.
Locke's expression flickered—
Just for a second.
Something unreadable.
Something—
Human.
And that's when—
The door opened.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just—
A soft mechanical release.
A shift in pressure.
A presence entering.
Locke's entire body went still.
Not frozen by Julian.
Not restrained.
Instinct.
Someone was there.
Footsteps.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Locke turned—
Slowly.
Carefully.
Forcing both sides of himself to cooperate—
Just enough.
And then—
He saw him.
Silas.
Standing just inside the doorway.
Still.
Observing.
His gaze moved once—
Taking everything in.
Locke's stance.
The imbalance.
The tension.
The delay.
Nothing escaped him.
"…you're late," Locke said evenly.
But it wasn't perfect.
The timing was off.
The tone—
Slightly fractured.
Silas didn't respond immediately.
He didn't move closer either.
He just watched.
And that was worse.
"…what happened?" Silas asked finally.
Simple question.
Heavy weight.
Locke opened his mouth—
Nothing came out.
A pause.
Then—
"Don't."
Locke's throat tightened.
That wasn't meant to be spoken.
But it was.
Out loud.
Silas's eyes sharpened.
Just slightly.
But enough.
He noticed.
Of course he noticed.
Locke forced control back—
Hard.
Violent.
"There's no issue," he said quickly.
Too quickly.
Silas took one step forward.
Locke's body reacted—
Half stepping back.
Half staying still.
A visible contradiction.
Silas stopped.
"…that's not true."
Silence.
Heavy.
Crushing.
Locke's fingers twitched again.
Both hands this time.
Unstable.
Uncertain.
Silas's gaze dropped briefly—
To Locke's hands.
Then back up.
"…you're not moving right," he said.
Not a question.
A conclusion.
Locke didn't answer.
Because he couldn't.
Because anything he said—
Could be interrupted.
Overridden.
Exposed.
Inside—
Something shifted.
Not resistance.
Not control.
Decision.
"He can't keep hiding it."
Locke's breath stuttered.
"No—"
Too late.
His lips parted—
And this time—
The voice that came out—
Was not his.
"Something is wrong."
Silence dropped like a blade.
Silas didn't move.
Didn't react immediately.
But his eyes—
Locked.
Not on Locke.
On what was inside him.
And for the first time—
Locke realized something worse than losing control.
Silas could see it.