"What are you doing here, old man?"

Instinctively, Calliope stepped in front of Silas, shielding him. Her eyes sharp and wary, she glared at Oliver. "I told you before, Silas isn't going back with you. And I'm not divorcing him, so stop dreaming!" She added with a scoff, "Daydreaming all the time isn't good for you."

Oliver stared at her a moment before turning to Silas. "So, you need a woman to protect you now?"

"My wife wants to protect me, and I'm happy to let her," Silas replied coolly, glancing at Oliver. "Now get out." His tone was cold and commanding.

"I'm not leaving," Oliver said, as if it were the most natural thing. "We need to have a real talk."

"There's nothing for us to discuss," Silas said, his eyes narrowing, his voice edged with hostility. "I'm not causing you any trouble, so you'd better behave yourself."

"Or what? You'll destroy everything I have?" Oliver challenged, raising his voice.

"If you don't leave now, Oliver, don't blame me for getting rough," Silas warned, his icy stare fixed on his father.

"Oh, really? What are you gonna do, hit me?" Oliver scoffed. "I'm your father. Hitting your own dad? That's a big no-no, son." Oliver didn't believe Silas would ever lay a hand on him. He knew his son hated him, but after all these years, Silas had never actually tried to hurt him. Deep down, he figured it was because he was Silas's father. No real son would ever go that far.

But Calliope could see it. Silas was furious. His face was contorted with anger, veins bulging on his clenched fists. His eyes blazed. Still, he didn't move. Silas wasn't like Oliver. He knew if he lost control, Oliver would only relish it, proof of their shared nature. Silas wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

He considered asking Calliope to leave, to handle Oliver alone. But before he could speak, Calliope stepped forward, perfectly calm. She looked Oliver directly in the eye. "Listen, old man, Silas might not hit you, but don't forget about me. I barely know you, so what's stopping me?" She grinned. Then, with lightning speed, her hand shot up.

A slim silver needle zipped through the air, striking Oliver in the neck. He yanked it out. "What the hell, you little brat!" He examined the needle, frowning. There was nothing on it. Just a needle. He shrugged, unconcerned.

Looking up at Calliope with a sneer, he said, "You really think something like that can hurt me?" He started to laugh, but stopped abruptly, confusion crossing his face. Something felt wrong. His body wasn't responding properly.

He lurched to his feet, his legs stiff and uncooperative, shuffling toward the door. "What the hell is going on?" Oliver's mind was clear, making his lack of control all the more terrifying. Panic set in.

Calliope quickly pulled Silas out of Oliver's path, and they watched as Oliver marched into the hallway, standing rigidly. Just then, Norton and others rounded the corner, stopping, staring at Oliver, utterly bewildered.