Chapter 40 Ares #2
His grin stretching wide enough to take the whole page. Theo beside him, their heads touching, Theo’s blind eyes softened in a way words could never convey. The page radiates warmth, the sort of warmth that bruises now.
I swallow hard against the burn rising in my throat. I didn’t know Sebastian could draw, much less that he watched us, all of us, so closely. These sketches feel personal. Gentle. A world he didn’t share with anyone.
And now I’m holding it.
I glance at him again. His breathing is deep, even. Oblivious.
A small, reluctant smile edges onto my face.
I slip the notebook beneath my shirt, tucking it close to my ribs like contraband.
Liam needs to see this, needs something soft and good to tether him after everything we dragged him through.
And Theo… Theo will want to know that Liam lives in someone else’s memories too.
I find a scrap of parchment on Sebastian’s bedside table and scrawl a quick note, keeping my handwriting steady despite the lingering tremble in my fingers.
Went to check on Liam. Back soon.
I leave it on his pillow, close to where his hand might find it upon waking.
With a few polite nods to the boys still dressing for bed, most of whom instantly look away, I slip out of the boys quarters, boots in hand until I reach the hall. Only once the door clicks shut behind me do I breathe a little easier.
The castle feels impossibly quiet at this hour, corridors sleepy beneath the lantern glow.
The medical wing lies ahead, and with each step, the tightness in my chest loosens just a fraction.
Liam is alive. Hurt, exhausted, but alive.
And if I can bring Theo even a sliver of comfort, just one moment where grief loosens its grip, then maybe the world will feel survivable again.
I quicken my pace, clutching the hidden notebook to my heart as I head toward the one room in the castle where relief and dread wait hand in hand.
The medical wing is quieter than I expect, quieter than any room filled with grief and relief has a right to be.
Only two beds are occupied now. Liam’s IV drips steadily, a soft metronome keeping time with the rise and fall of his breathing.
Theo has curled himself into the narrow space beside him, arms wound around Liam’s torso, Liam’s cheek resting on his chest. It’s the kind of embrace that looks instinctual, like two bodies that have been reaching for each other across a lifetime finally found a moment to meet.
The sight hits me somewhere deep. This is the first time they’ve ever slept side by side.
Theo stirs first. He lifts his head from the pillow, rubbing the stiffness from his neck, his blind eyes blinking through exhaustion.
“Who’s there?” he murmurs, voice soft and frayed at the edges.
“It’s me,” I whisper, stopping beside the bed. His hand reaches out immediately, and I slide mine into his. He squeezes, grounding himself. Or grounding me. I’m not sure which one of us needs it more.
“What are you doing up this late?” he asks, dragging his palms over his face as Liam shifts slightly in his sleep.
“I thought I could sit with him for a while,” I say, easing down into the chair. “You should get something to eat. Maybe bathe. You’ve been awake too long.”
He lets out a small laugh, the kind that isn’t quite joy, but relief pretending it knows how to work. “You and Ares dragged your brother back into the land of the living, and you’re telling me I’m the one who’s exhausted?”
“You lost the man you love,” I say quietly. “That kind of grief sits on your ribs and steals your breath whether you acknowledge it or not.”
The word hangs between us. Love. Neither of us has ever dared say it aloud for them. Now that it’s out, the truth reshapes the air.
Theo presses a hand to Liam’s hair, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. There’s no shame in it. No apology. Just devotion.
“Thirty minutes,” he says finally. “Then I’m kicking you out so you can get some rest.” He slowly disentangles himself from Liam’s arms, guiding Liam’s head down onto the pillow with a tenderness that stings my eyes. His movements are careful, practiced, afraid of disturbing even a dream.
Liam groans as Theo stands, a muddled, sleepy sound. I rise to inspect the IV bag, watching the clear liquid drip through the line into Liam’s bruised arm.
“What did they give him?” I ask.
“Morphine. He’s… a bit out of it.” Theo chuckles softly, shaking his head. “So prepare yourself for whatever nonsense he says. Earlier he was convinced he had twelve toes.”
He presses a kiss to Liam’s temple, quick but aching, and then squeezes my arm before heading toward the door. His footsteps fade into the corridor, leaving the room wrapped in a hush that sits soft on my skin.
I lower myself beside Liam again and pull the black notebook from beneath my shirt.
The sketches spill across the pages, each one more intimate than the last. Full scenes, half-finished expressions, fleeting glances captured with impossible precision.
It feels like looking into someone else’s memories, memories of us, seen through eyes that study more than they speak.
“Whatcha got there?” Liam slurs, his voice rough and fogged by pain and medication.
The sound of him conscious again punches the breath out of me. I move toward him immediately, pressing myself into his side as gently as I can. My arms wrap around him, careful to avoid the worst of his injuries.
“Hey, kiddo,” he murmurs, patting my hair as if he’s the one who needs to comfort me. He pulls himself upright, scooting over to give me space, and I climb onto the edge of the bed. Shoulder to shoulder, we open the notebook between us.
“How do you feel?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
“Like I died,” he mutters, squinting as though his eyelids weigh more than he can lift.
He taps the cover with a clumsy finger. “What’s this?”
“I found it under Sebastian’s bed,” I say, opening the front page again. “He’s been sketching us. All of us. I had no idea.”
Liam’s eyes widen, then soften, then narrow in sudden amusement. “You never knew he saw us like this,” he murmurs. “So… angelic.”
He trails his fingers over a sketch of my face, then drags them down to the bottom of the page. His pupils dilate in surprise, and suddenly he lets out a laugh, a brief, airy sound nothing like the exhausted groans from earlier.
“What?” I ask, brows furrowing.
“Harper… Sebastian didn’t draw these.”
“Yes, he did,” I insist. “I pulled it out from under his-”
“He doesn’t know how to sign his name like this,” Liam interrupts, tapping the signature in the corner. “I helped him with his writing last semester. He can barely manage cursive.”
He flips to the back cover, quicker than his coordination should allow, stopping on the embossed initials.
A.P.
I blink. “A.P…?”
“Ares Parker,” Liam sings, collapsing back into the pillows with a boyish grin that has no business being this bright after dying earlier today.
The notebook slips from his hands and falls open on the floor.
I scramble off the bed, my pulse fumbling through my veins as I kneel beside it. The page it landed on is one I hadn’t seen yet.
A sketch of me. A single flower tucked behind my ear. My smile soft, unguarded. Eyes bright, looking directly at someone. Looking at him.
And then the inscription.
It never came as a surprise your favorite color was green. It never fails to brighten the violet in your eyes.
A chill races through me. I clutch the notebook, forcing my breath steady.
“I never told Ares my favorite color is green,” I whisper.
Liam is already half-asleep again, oblivious, sinking back into the cushions with a peaceful sigh.
But my pulse pounds in my ears, because suddenly, all those moments where Ares seemed to anticipate me, to understand things I didn’t say…
They don’t feel accidental anymore.