Chapter 45 – "The Weight of Silence"
STAR Labs was quiet the next morning, but it wasn't peaceful.
The Cortex felt heavier, like something in the air had thickened overnight. The usual buzz of screens and mechanical hums couldn't drown out the tension that curled between the walls. No one spoke above a whisper. No one smiled.
Dante sat on the edge of the workbench in the corner. Hood still up. Arms resting on his knees. He didn't say a word.
He hadn't said anything since Jay was taken.
And no one had asked him to.
Across the room, Barry stared at the breach monitor like it might flicker back to life. His eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. He was dressed in his suit but didn't seem ready to run anywhere. Not today.
Caitlin paced near the med station, her fingers twitching like they needed to heal something—but there was no body, no blood, no patient.
Ronnie sat against the wall near the door, elbows on his knees, jaw tight, staring at the floor like it owed him answers.
Cisco had taken apart the breach closer device for the fourth time. He wasn't fixing anything—he just needed to do something. His hands moved mechanically, almost violently, his face blank.
The silence broke when Barry's voice cut across the Cortex. It wasn't loud, but it was sharp.
"He warned us."
Caitlin turned. "Who?"
"Dante." Barry looked over at the corner where Dante sat. "He said Jay was lying. He said something didn't feel right. And we ignored it."
Ronnie raised his head, confused. "So now you agree with him?"
Barry didn't answer right away. His mouth opened, then closed again. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just—damn it!"
He slammed his fist against the console. Everyone jumped.
Cisco stood up. "He helped us. Whatever Jay was hiding… he still helped us close the breaches. He didn't have to do that."
Caitlin stopped pacing. "And now he's gone. We should've pushed him harder for answers. Maybe we could've stopped Zoom before he took him."
Ronnie looked at Dante, voice low. "You think he's dead?"
Dante didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
His face was calm. Still. Distant.
Ronnie scoffed and looked away. "Right. Of course you won't answer."
Barry turned to face him directly. "Why didn't you say anything after he helped?"
Dante's eyes met Barry's for a split second.
And then dropped.
He said nothing.
Cisco pointed a finger at him from across the room. "You always act like you're above us. Like you're some shadow in the dark watching everything fall apart. You see the worst in people and call it foresight."
Dante didn't flinch.
Cisco's voice cracked. "But maybe… maybe you're just afraid to hope."
Caitlin stepped closer, arms crossed. "You didn't believe in him. That much is clear. But you could've said something else. You could've asked more questions. You could've helped."
Ronnie added, "Instead, you threatened him."
A pause.
Cisco echoed the words from earlier. "You said you'd rip his head off and use it as a chair." He let out a cold laugh. "That wasn't a warning. That was a promise."
No one laughed with him.
The room felt colder.
Barry walked past the monitors, arms folded. He stopped in front of Dante, looking down at him. "I've trusted you. We all have. Even when we didn't understand you. Even when you didn't say much. But this? You made everyone second-guess Jay."
He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to find something—anything—in Dante's expression. "Did you want him to fail?"
Dante's jaw tightened. Slightly.
But he didn't speak.
Barry kept going. "I think a part of you wanted him to be the villain. So you could be right. So you wouldn't have to trust someone else."
Caitlin stepped forward again. "We all believed in him. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe he was hiding something. But we still believed in him."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because we had to."
Ronnie said, "You don't. You don't believe in anyone."
Cisco looked at Dante again, softer this time. "You didn't lose anything last night, did you? Not really. Because you never let him in."
The silence returned.
Dante didn't look away.
Didn't defend himself.
Didn't rise to his feet.
The blame swirled around him, heavy and loud, but he bore it like stone.
And in that silence, something shifted.
Wells-2 entered the room from the side corridor, wiping grease from his hands. He stopped when he saw the room—how tense it felt, how still Dante was compared to the others.
Wells said nothing.
He knew that kind of silence.
Cisco looked away and sat back down at his station. His fingers trembled slightly.
Caitlin went to the med bay and picked up her clipboard, staring at it without reading a word.
Ronnie leaned back against the wall, sighing into his hands.
Barry didn't move. He stood near Dante for a few seconds longer.
Then quietly walked away.
Only Wells remained watching him.
Finally, even he left.
And Dante?
He stayed.
Still in the corner. Still silent.
He didn't move when the lights dimmed.
He didn't move when the Cortex cleared out.
He didn't move when the weight of his silence finally crushed the air around him.
Because he knew what they didn't.
That silence had never been empty.
It had always been waiting.
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