The weeks passed with an unnerving quiet. Seven of them, to be exact. Days bled into nights, and the chaos Elias had expected never came. No cryptic emails, no mysterious instructions, no more shadowy figures demanding impossible tasks. Just silence.
At first, Elias welcomed it. After the tension of that night at Granholm Street, a little peace felt like a gift. But as the days stretched on, peace began to curdle into something sour—a gnawing unease that twisted in the pit of his stomach. The kind of quiet that wasn’t really quiet at all, but the heavy, suffocating silence of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
His life returned to a semblance of normalcy. He spent his mornings sketching in his cluttered apartment, though his designs felt uninspired, lifeless. Afternoons were filled with long walks through the city, his bag slung over his shoulder as he tried to clear his head. Evenings were a blur of cheap takeout and mindless television, his thoughts circling back to the same unanswered questions.
The only reminder of the Axiom Project was the balance in his bank account. The $25,000 wire transfer had arrived exactly as promised, and while the sheer amount was staggering, it felt like blood money. Elias had tried to rationalize it—telling himself it was payment for his work, nothing more—but the memory of that night, the brutal confrontation, the masked figure’s words, refused to fade.
By the fourth week, he stopped checking his email obsessively. By the sixth, he convinced himself that maybe it was over. Maybe he’d done what they needed, and they’d moved on. And by the seventh, he decided to stop waiting. If they weren’t going to reach out, he might as well enjoy the windfall while it lasted.
The idea came to him during one of those restless evenings when the silence in his apartment felt too loud. He’d been staring at his laptop, the glow of the screen illuminating the untouched sketches scattered across his desk, when the thought struck him: What if I gave my family something to be proud of?
His parents, Emma, Zach—they’d all watched him stumble through the last few years with varying degrees of patience and concern. His mom’s quiet disappointment, his dad’s skepticism, Emma’s teasing, and even Zach’s gentle encouragement had all left marks. They’d tried to be supportive, but Elias knew what they saw when they looked at him: potential, untapped and wasted.
This money could change that. He could finally show them that he was doing something, that he wasn’t just drifting aimlessly. He wasn’t going to tell them where the money had come from—he wasn’t even sure he could if he tried—but he could at least give them a night to remember. Something extravagant, something that screamed, I’m not a failure.
So, he picked up his phone and sent the text:
"Dinner on me this Saturday. Dress nice. Trust me—it’ll be worth it. :)"
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Elias stood outside the restaurant, adjusting the cuffs of his blazer for what felt like the hundredth time. The place was impossibly elegant, with its gleaming glass facade and softly glowing lights that seemed to make the entire street shimmer. A valet in a crisp uniform waited by the entrance, ready to whisk away the car of anyone who could afford to dine there.
He’d chosen this restaurant deliberately. It was one of the most exclusive spots in the city, the kind of place his family would never expect him to even step foot in, let alone treat them to. He’d made the reservation a week in advance, dropping his name with a confidence he didn’t quite feel, and now, as he waited for his family to arrive, he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of himself.
They’re going to lose their minds when they see this place, he thought, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
The first to arrive was Emma. She stepped out of a cab in a sleek black dress, her heels clicking against the pavement as she approached. She took one look at the restaurant, then at Elias, her eyebrows shooting up.
"Wow," she said, her tone a mix of surprise and skepticism. "Since when did you start hanging out at places like this?"
Elias grinned. "Since tonight. Thought I’d spoil you guys a little."
Emma gave him a once-over, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Is this some kind of elaborate apology for all the dinners you bailed on?"
"Just let me have this moment," Elias said, laughing.
Before Emma could press him further, Zach arrived with their parents in tow. His mom looked radiant in a navy dress, her smile bright and wide as she took in the restaurant. His dad, dressed in his usual understated suit, raised an approving eyebrow.
"Elias," his mom said, wrapping him in a warm hug. "This is... wow. Are you sure about this? This place looks—"
"Expensive?" Elias finished for her, smirking. "Don’t worry about it. Tonight’s on me."
His dad nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Well, look at you. Maybe you’ve been holding out on us after all."
Elias led them inside, his confidence growing as they stepped into the restaurant’s opulent interior. The dining room was a vision of luxury, with its high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and tables adorned with crisp white linens and flickering candles. A hostess guided them to a private corner table, the city lights visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows nearby.
As they settled in, Elias couldn’t help but bask in their reactions. His mom kept marveling at the decor, his dad was unusually relaxed, and even Emma seemed impressed, though she masked it with her usual sarcastic quips.
"This is incredible, Elias," Zach said, his voice low so only Elias could hear. "You really pulled this off."
Elias shrugged, trying to play it cool. "It’s nothing. Just wanted to do something nice for you guys."
As the meal progressed, the conversation flowed easily. His mom asked about his work, and Elias deflected skillfully, hinting at "freelance projects" without giving away too much. Emma teased him about his sudden windfall, asking if he’d secretly won the lottery, while Zach chimed in with his usual steady encouragement.
Elias soaked it all in, feeling for the first time in a long time like he belonged. The food was exquisite, the wine flowed freely, and for a few hours, the weight of the Axiom Project and all its unanswered questions seemed to fade into the background.
But even as he laughed along with his family, a small, nagging voice lingered in the back of his mind:
What happens when they call you again?