𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: holes

       ╰┈➤ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: filler chapter

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘-𝐒𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 hole in Aviva's heart that Silco had tried his best to fill. And for a while, he succeeded.

The formative years of Aviva's life were spent in the safety of Silco's lair, and though the walls were steeped in shadows and the weight of his ambition, they never felt cold to her. She should've felt alone but she never did. Silco was a man of precision and control, but with Aviva, he was something softer, something quieter. His sharp edges dulled when she was near, his voice gentler when it was her name he spoke.

He gave her structure, yes, but also care—a steady hand on her shoulder when she faltered, a quiet pride in his eyes when she succeeded. He didn't just protect her; he nurtured her. When the world outside threatened to crush her, Silco was her shield, her unwavering constant. The meals he  shared with her were simple, but they always carried a quiet intimacy. The rare smiles he reserved for her were fleeting but sincere, and in those moments, she believed she was truly seen.

In those early years, Aviva never felt alone. Silco made sure of that. Though his time was often consumed by Zaun's future, he always returned to her, carving out moments where it was just them. He told her stories of the rebellion, of the city he dreamed of building, and of the strength he saw in her—a strength he believed she didn't yet understand.

For a time, it was enough. She let herself believe that the family she lost could be rebuilt with just the two of them, that the man who had chosen her could be all the father she'd ever need.

Silco sat at his desk, papers spread out before him, his brow furrowed as he worked through another set of plans for Zaun's uprising. The room was dim, the soft glow of his desk lamp the only light. The faint patter of tiny footsteps echoed through the lair, and before he could glance up, a small figure darted into his line of sight.

"Here!" Four-year-old Aviva beamed, holding up a toy phone made of mismatched parts—a bolt here, a spring there, and a haphazardly painted piece of metal serving as the receiver. She waved it eagerly in front of him, her golden eyes sparkling with pride.

Silco's initial annoyance at being interrupted melted into quiet amusement. He leaned back in his chair, arching a sharp brow. "What's this, little one?"

"It's a phone!" she chirped, thrusting it into his hand. "It's for you! It's ringing!"

Silco looked at the contraption in his hand, tilting it as if inspecting its craftsmanship. Then, to her delight, he raised it to his ear with all the seriousness of a man conducting an important deal. "This is Silco speaking," he said, his tone calm but carrying a dramatic flair.

Aviva giggled, covering her mouth with her tiny hands as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

"Oh?" Silco continued, nodding as if someone on the other end of the line were speaking to him. "Yes, she's here. Very busy, though. A prodigy, I'd say. Inventor of this... revolutionary device." He paused, glancing at her with an exaggeratedly stern expression. "What's that? You want to speak to her?"

Aviva squealed in excitement, reaching for the phone. Silco handed it back with a small smirk, watching as she pressed it to her ear and babbled into it with all the confidence of a businesswoman conducting important negotiations.

"Yes, yes," she said, pacing back and forth like she'd seen him do so many times. "I made it myself! You like it? Uh-huh. Okay, bye!" She hung up the phone with a little snap of her wrist and grinned at Silco.

"Well?" he asked, resting his chin on his hand, his single eye narrowing in mock scrutiny. "What did they say?"

"They said I'm the best!" she declared, puffing out her chest with pride.

Silco chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Of course, they did. They'd be fools to think otherwise, butterfly."

He reached out, brushing a strand of her dark blue hair from her face. "Now, go on. I have work to do."

Aviva nodded, but before running off, she threw her arms around his waist in a quick, warm hug, leaving him momentarily stunned. "Bye, Papa!" she chirped, darting off with her toy phone in hand.

Silco watched her disappear, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. The papers on his desk suddenly felt less urgent.

Silco's faint smile faded as the memory dissolved, leaving him staring at the empty desk in his dimly lit office. The sound of Aviva's childish laughter still lingered faintly in his mind, but now, years later, the laughter had been replaced by silence.

For a while, Silco had allowed himself the illusion of being a father. He had held Aviva's tiny hand in his, taught her how to read maps of Zaun's undercity, and even played her little games. She had been an ember of light in the shadows of his empire, a distraction from the constant grind of rebellion and power.

In those early years, he had been patient, even kind. Silco wasn't the type to shower her with affection, but he had humored her. He'd answered her fake phone calls with the same gravitas he used to broker deals, slipped her candies from shipments when no one was looking, and placed a careful hand on her head when she needed comfort.

But that man—the one who had let her climb into his lap and babble about nothing while he pretended to read reports—had slowly disappeared. The bedtime stories she begged for became lectures on Zaun's future. The hugs she gave so freely were met with distracted pats on the shoulder, if he even acknowledged them at all. By the time she was ten, Silco had stopped pretending to be her father and fully embraced the role of her mentor, her commander.

The transition had been gradual. Aviva hadn't noticed it at first. Or maybe she had and simply chose to ignore it, clinging to fleeting moments of warmth, treating them like treasures—proof that her "Papa" was still somewhere beneath the surface.

But then the shimmer came. The needle in her arm. The burn in her veins. The haze in her mind. Silco no longer needed her childish adoration; he needed her power. Her sentient plants, their monstrous tendrils, became an extension of his will—a weapon honed by her suffering.

And that was the cruel truth, wasn't it? Her agony had been far more useful to him than her joy. Her suffering was what Silco needed most. He had taken the hurt and turned it into something sacred, something he could wield, something poetic.

"Am I suffering beautifully?" she had whispered into the darkness one night, her voice trembling like the fragile stem of a flower in the wind. "Is my agony lovable? Is that what you needed more than me?"

Even now, as she sat in the office that had once been his, the weight of his absence pressed down on her. Aviva stared at the desk that had borne the weight of his plans, the surface worn from years of scheming and sacrifice.

Silco had always told her that Zaun demanded everything. Sacrifice was the currency of their rebellion, and she had given more than her share. Her innocence. Her childhood. Her mind. Her body.

But she wasn't sure she had ever given him what he truly wanted: her soul.

"I was always your greatest plan, wasn't I?" she whispered, though the words felt hollow even as they left her lips.

For a while, Silco had allowed himself to indulge in the illusion of fatherhood. He had been her entire world, and for a brief moment, it had seemed she had been his. But illusions could only last so long.

In the end, Silco had taught her many things: how to survive, how to fight, how to lead. But he had never taught her how to stop missing him. Or how to hate him enough to stop loving him.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗'𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓. It didn't have a single shape. It was a patchwork of emptiness, jagged edges carved out by the people she had loved and lost. Claggor's laugh. Mylo's taunts. Vander's steady hand. Vi's betrayal. Silco's promises.

Each loss had left its mark, a phantom pain she couldn't stop feeling no matter how tightly she held onto the present. She told herself it didn't matter. That she didn't need them anymore. But the echoes of their voices lingered, a chorus of ghosts that haunted every quiet moment.

And then there was Aviva. And Isha.

Aviva wasn't a ghost. She was here, solid and warm in a way nothing else in Jinx's world seemed to be. She was the one thing Jinx hadn't lost—not yet. But that only made it worse.

And Isha...

Jinx's gaze flicked to the corner of the room where Isha sat cross-legged, quietly drawing on the floor with a piece of broken chalk. The girl's movements were slow, deliberate, her little brow furrowed in concentration. She was so quiet—always so quiet—that sometimes Jinx forgot she was there. But then guilt would settle like a weight on her chest, and she'd remember the day they brought her in.

Aviva had insisted, her golden eyes burning with determination in a way Jinx couldn't argue with. "We can't just leave her," Aviva had said, her voice breaking. "She's just a kid."

And so Isha stayed.

Jinx hadn't expected to love her. She hadn't expected the fierce protectiveness that bloomed in her chest whenever she saw the girl's small frame curled up between them at night, or the way her heart ached when Isha's big, silent eyes looked up at her like she was something worth trusting.

But now, as she watched Isha carefully trace the outline of a flower on the dusty floor, Jinx couldn't imagine her life without her.

Still, the fear was there.

What if I can't protect her? What if something happens to her because of me? Because it always does.

Jinx's fingers twitched. She glanced up from the half-finished bomb in her hands and let her gaze settle on Aviva, sitting across the room at Silco's old desk.

What if she doesn't look up? What if she doesn't see me?

Her throat tightened. She felt the urge to call out, to make Aviva look her way, but something held her back. Instead, she stared, her mind spinning, the thoughts looping over and over until they drowned out everything else.

She's going to leave. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day. Everyone does. Silco promised he wouldn't, and he did. Vi swore she'd always protect me, and now she hates me. Vander... Vander didn't even get a choice.

Her chest ached, and she pressed her nails into her palm until the sting quieted the storm in her head, just for a second.

But Aviva's not them. She's still here. She hasn't left. And Isha... she's still here, too. That has to mean something, doesn't it?

Jinx's gaze flicked to the desk, to the papers Aviva was so focused on. For a moment, the sight of her—so calm, so steady—was enough to dull the sharp edges of Jinx's thoughts. But the silence between them pressed against her, heavy and suffocating.

What if she's only here because she feels like she has to be? What if she's already tired of me?

The idea made her stomach twist. Jinx hated that she couldn't tell, hated that no matter how tightly she clung to Aviva, it never felt like enough.

Maybe it wasn't enough.

But it had to be. Because Jinx didn't know who she was without Aviva anymore. Didn't want to know.

If she leaves...

Her gaze darted back to Isha, who had stopped drawing and was now staring at her with those big, quiet eyes.

If they leave...

Jinx swallowed hard, the thought too terrifying to finish. Instead, she forced her eyes back to the bomb in her lap, her fingers trembling as she worked, pretending that the only thing on her mind was the next explosion. But deep down, she knew the truth:

Aviva and Isha were the only things holding her together. And if she ever lost them, Jinx didn't think there'd be enough pieces left to put back together.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒!

Writer's block jumped me in the alleyway behind my job and beat me black and blue. So sorry ik I said I'd finish this book before the end of my break/the month of December. I lied. I'm lucky if we even make it to Jinx saving Isha let alone the alternate universe chapter. But thank you for your support nonetheless.