Chapter 26
Sebastian
Between my night with Rosie and the endless pacing that followed, I started to wonder if I was nocturnal.
But I preferred video games and babbling with my baby to the hollow pacing that came with Mason’s absence. Too many what-ifs for sleep.
What if she called the cops?
What if she got S.H.A.D.E. involved?
What if she never forgave us for mistakes she’d never understand?
And most pressing, what if I never saw my kids again?
The fact that that was my biggest fear felt humiliating. But I wasn’t the only one thinking it.
Cameron rarely drank, but when he did, whatever emotion he carried was amplified. He wasn’t always an angry drunk or a sad drunk, but whatever he felt, we all felt it too. Last night, that meant despair.
It was hard, watching such a strong man collapse under the weight of weakness. But Cameron wasn’t a god. He wasn’t an immovable force immune to grief. He was human, allowed to wallow, even if it hurt to see.
That’s why I was almost relieved when Lucian called just after three a.m.
The good news: he’d found Mason. She was safe. The kids, too.
The bad news: when I asked when they were coming home, his answer was simple.
They weren’t.
He blamed Leona, saying she wouldn’t let him near them because of our fight. But between the shake in his voice and my brother’s history of lying, I didn’t buy it.
Still, I didn’t push. Instead, I packed Cameron’s and my bags.
No part of me wanted Sophia with us. Socially, I knew I came off creepy, but Sophia?
Something about her unsettled me in a way that crawled under my skin.
It was hard to believe she’d killed anyone; Sophia just didn’t seem like the type.
But her “confession” twisted my unease into dread.
My gut told me she was going to do something crazy, I just didn’t know when.
But I couldn’t push her away. Not while living with her. Not while tethered to Cameron. Not while still clinging to the pipe dream that our family could be fixed.
So when she woke up and asked where we were going, I told her. That’s how all three of us ended up piled into Cameron’s truck before the sun had risen.
He insisted he was fine to drive, but his slurred words and stumbling steps said otherwise. I took the wheel. He snored in the passenger seat, and I prayed he’d wake up sober before we got there. Mason would not appreciate him showing up drunk, not with her parents’ history of alcohol abuse.
Sophia sat in the back between two cat carriers. For the first forty-five minutes, I hoped she’d fall back asleep. No such luck. She was wide awake—bright-eyed, bushy-tailed—and staring right at me.
My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. She shifted, lips curling into a small smile that made me sit straighter.
“So… Who did you kill?” she asked, like she was starting small talk.
I choked and slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded to a halt on the rain-soaked dirt road.
Instinctively, I threw an arm across Cameron’s chest—as if that would do anything to stop him from flying forward if we crashed. He was too damn heavy. If we wrecked, he’d die. Luckily, he was smart enough to wear a seatbelt.
I blew out a breath and glanced at him. Still dead asleep. Lucky bastard.
A manicured hand appeared on my shoulder as Sophia unbuckled and leaned forward.
“It’s kind of freeing, not having to hide,” she said. “I’ve seen your S.H.A.D.E. file. You killed exactly one person to earn your five-year contract. Who was it?”
My chest filled, but I forgot how to exhale.
“You… Work for S.H.A.D.E.?” My voice came out strained.
Work wasn’t even the right word. I’d never seen my own file, let alone anyone else’s. That meant she was higher on the chain of command than I’d ever been.
“Mhm!” Her blue eyes glittered with joy.
Joy was never the word I’d associate with S.H.A.D.E.
“I told you I’ve killed someone. What, did you think I was a serial killer?” She laughed, waving her hand.
I narrowed my eyes. “Honestly? I thought this was some fucked-up joke gone wrong.”
Once the shock of last night wore off, that explanation made the most sense: Sophia made a sick joke, Mason exploded, and there was no time to take it back.
“Oh.” Her nose scrunched. She leaned back into her seat.
I asked, politely, for her to put her seatbelt back on. She did. I started driving again.
“Well, the point still stands. Who did you kill?” she pressed, eyes wide with curiosity.
Images of Holly’s shattered skull filled my head. The phantom smell of brain matter. Memories that would never leave me.
“Who did you kill?” I echoed, still expecting her to crack and admit it was all a joke.
Sophia frowned. “No fair. You only killed one. I’ve got seven to tell you about—eight, if you count the one I got away with.”
My blood ran cold.
This had to be a joke.
“I mean, since you’ve got so many stories,” I said carefully, “it only makes sense that you go first.”
She tilted her head side to side as if her brain were powered by kinetic energy.
“How many do I need to tell you before you tell me?”
My eyes widened for a beat. I cleared my throat.
“I’m not talking about work, I know—”
“Neither am I.” Her words landed heavy, but her smile widened, like she’d just spilled a secret she’d kept for years.
My mouth went dry, but I forced a strangled laugh. “Sophia…”
She leaned forward just enough to run a finger along my bicep. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
My muscles twitched at the feather-light graze.
“I think you’re… messing with me. Like you would when we were kids.”
“Tch.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “When we were little, I messed with you because you were scrawny and annoying. I don’t mess with you now because you’re hot.”
My fingers tapped the wheel as I debated whether that was an insult. Sophia had a talent for backhanded compliments. Maybe this was one of those.
Either way, I chose not to dwell.
“Hey, can we maybe not talk about this?” My voice pitched up to a nervous squeak. “We’re almost to my house, and I don’t want to risk Cameron overhearing. Or Lucian finding out.”
“Oooh, good idea!” Sophia clapped. “I feel like Lucian would overreact.”
“…About what?”
Sophia glanced at Cameron, then cupped her hand to her mouth like a child sharing gossip.
“The m-u-r-d-e-r.”
My tongue stuck to my teeth as I stared out at the road. Maybe this was fake. Maybe I’d died in a car crash months ago, and this was Hell. Honestly, that made more sense than accepting it as real life.
Mist and twilight blurred together as the world slid by.
Slowly, my house emerged from within the gloom.
The tall, sharp spires came into view before the wrought-iron gate.
After I broke up with Alex, I gave him thirty days to move out, then locked the place up.
Only three keys existed: one for my housekeeper, one for my sister, and one for me.
That’s why I was more than shocked to see the gate open—until I noticed the neon-green eyesore parked up the hill. Leona must have given Lucian my key last night. That pissed me off more than I cared to admit.
The Victorian mansion loomed through the mist, its stone facade glistening. Black windows stared back like eyes, reflecting nothing, watching me return.
I gripped the wheel tighter, though it grounded me none. Every inch of the drive stretched longer than it should have, as if the road had doubled in size. By the time I parked beside Lucian’s hideous neon Jeep, my chest ached from holding my breath.
I closed my eyes and counted to ten before cutting the engine. The dome light flickered weakly on, barely piercing the morning gloom.
I pushed open the driver’s door without waking Cameron or checking if Sophia followed.
The second my sneaker hit the driveway, Lucian stepped out of his Jeep. We nearly collided in our rush to the porch.
He caught himself first, one hand braced on a post, the other twitching toward my arm like he wanted to steady me but thought better of it. Dark curls clung to his temples, his skin slick with sweat. At first, I thought it was from the mist—then I noticed how pale he was.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He swallowed hard, wincing like the act itself hurt.
“You look like shit,” I said, climbing the steps.
“Thought I’d take a page out of your book.” His voice was low, raspy, almost hoarse.
I looked over my shoulder while digging for my key. Normally, comments about my looks bothered me the most. I’d spent years trying to outgrow my ugly duckling phase. But insults from Lucian, of all people, weren’t worth hearing, let alone remembering.
“If you have strep throat, you can get the fuck out of my house,” I warned. That virus went around in February, and last time I had it I thought I was going to fucking die.
Lucian let out a wheeze that barely counted as a laugh. He swiped sweat from his face, smearing it across his ashen skin.
“Not strep,” he croaked.
“Then what?” I jammed the key into the lock, only for it to stick.
He leaned against the banister like it was the only thing keeping him upright. And though I hated my brother, I worried about him. If only just a little.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” I asked through gritted teeth as I slammed my shoulder into the door.
It didn’t budge. Just sent pain ripping through my chest.
Lucian’s lips pursed. He scratched at the stubble along his jaw. Before he could answer, Sophia emerged from the truck. Her baby blues scanned him once with surgical precision—then her face twisted into the ugliest expression I’d ever seen on her.
“Are you fucking using again?” she bellowed, taking the stairs two at a time.
Lucian flinched at Sophia's unusually strong language, then closed his eyes, head tilting away.
“Please, keep your voice down,” he whispered.
“Oh my God, you totally are!” Her words shook with a mix of rage and fear.
I just wanted inside. Part of me considered throwing a rock through a window if it meant escape.
Their voices clashed behind me like divorcing parents mid-argument.