Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Sebastian/Liquin
Iused to like mornings. They were quiet, full of potential. Now, waking up just felt like the return of a sentence I hadn't finished serving. My body ached in places I hadn’t known could ache, a deep, pervasive soreness that grounded me. It was a reminder: You’re still alive. She isn’t.
I exhaled slowly, staring into the dark liquid in my cup. The reflection looking back was tired, the lines around my eyes deeper than they had been a year ago. A year of wearing a mask, literally and figuratively. A year of trying to outrun a ghost.
Dr. Elena Vasquez. My colleague. My lover. The woman whose suicide note I’d found crumpled on my desk like an indictment.
I am sorry.
The words were branded onto the back of my eyelids. No matter how many lives I saved as Liquen, no matter how many times I dissolved into water and let the current carry me, I couldn't wash them away. The guilt always settled back into my bones the moment I reformed.
You should have seen it coming.
I rubbed my thumb along the rim of the mug, the ceramic cool.
The others were scattered around the room, lost in their own worlds.
Donovan was hunched over a sketchbook in the armchair, dark hair hiding his face.
Johnny was sprawled on the couch, arm slung over his eyes, defying gravity and comfort alike.
Roger leaned against the kitchen counter, nursing a protein shake.
Matt was gone—gym, probably. Bench-pressing the past.
And Mandie…
The door opened. Mandie walked in, carrying a stack of papers.
Her hazel eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unreadable. For a second, I braced myself. Was she going to call me out on my spiraling? Or worse, offer comfort? I wasn’t sure which would break me faster.
She didn’t speak. She just walked over and tossed the stack onto the coffee table in front of me.
Thud.
I frowned. "I don't grade papers anymore."
Mandie didn’t answer. She just nodded at the stack, her lips a thin line. "It isn't anything to grade. But it is something for you to read."
I hesitated, then picked it up. The first page was a printout of a Google review. Five stars.
Dr. Hayes saved my life.
My stomach twisted.
I went to Dr. Hayes after my third suicide attempt. I didn’t think anything could help. But he didn’t just listen. He saw me. For the first time in years, I felt like a person, not a problem. I’m alive today because of him.
I swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the page.
Johnny sat up, craning his neck. "What is that?"
"Reviews," Mandie said, voice steady. "From Sebastian’s patients. I had Donovan pull a few, since our gracious hosts won't let me near the internet."
I flipped to the next one.
I was diagnosed with PTSD after my tour. Therapy felt like a waste of time until I met Dr. Hayes. He didn’t treat me like I was broken. He treated me like I was human.
My chest constricted. I could hear Elena’s voice, sharp and bitter, echoing in my skull. You’re so good at fixing everyone else. Why can’t you fix me?
I flipped again.
I lost my daughter two years ago. Dr. Hayes didn’t try to “fix” my grief. He just… sat with me in it. For the first time, I don’t feel so alone.
The words blurred. I blinked rapidly, throat thick.
"Sebastian…" Donovan’s voice was quiet.
I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. The next review was shorter, but it hit like a physical blow.
I came to Dr. Hayes because I was drowning. He threw me a lifeline. I’m still holding on.
Mandie stepped closer. She didn’t touch me, but her presence was a warmth at my side, solid and real. "Keep going."
I exhaled shakily and turned the page.
I was self-harming for years. Dr. Hayes was the first person who didn’t flinch when he saw my scars. He looked at me like I was worth something.
My hands were shaking. The paper rustled loudly in the quiet room.
I didn’t think I deserved to get better. Dr. Hayes made me believe I did.
And then—
I was Dr. Hayes’ patient for three years. He saved my life more times than I can count. I relapsed after I stopped seeing him. But I’m still here. And that’s because of him.
The last one was dated two months before Elena died.
I set the stack down carefully, like it was made of glass. My vision swam. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, willing the burn to fade.
Mandie’s voice was softer now. "You helped them."
I laughed, a raw, broken sound. "Not all of them."
"No," she agreed. "Not all of them. But you can’t save everyone, Sebastian."
I dropped my hands, looking at her. Really looking at her. The tattoos peeking from her sleeves, the faint smudge of mascara, the stubborn set of her jaw. She wasn’t letting me run.
Roger cleared his throat. "She’s right, Doc. You can’t—"
"It’s not just about the reviews," Mandie cut in, gaze never leaving mine. She turned slightly, nodding at the others. "Tell him."
I frowned. "Tell me what?"
Johnny sat forward. His green eyes were serious for once, no smirk, no sarcasm. "You saved my ass, Doc. Literally and figuratively."
I blinked. "What?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at me. "When I first joined the team, I was a mess. Half-convinced I was gonna end up like my old man. You… you didn’t treat me like a lost cause. You treated me like I had a choice." He exhaled sharply. "That kept me from going off the rails."
I stared at him. Johnny Boyd, the guy who acted like he was bulletproof. I’d had no idea.
Roger stepped forward, uncharacteristically solemn.
"And me. After I killed Vince…" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.
"I was drowning in guilt. You talked me through it.
Not with bullshit platitudes. You just let me sit in it until I was ready to climb out.
" He met my eyes. "I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. "
Donovan’s voice was barely a whisper. "I didn’t think I could be useful. Not after what happened to her." His fingers twitched against his sketchbook. "But you made me believe I could be more than just a guy who failed. That I could actually help people."
I looked at him and saw the weight he carried. It was the same weight I carried.
"You gave me a reason to keep fighting." Matt’s voice rumbled from the hallway. I hadn’t heard him come in. He was in a fresh t-shirt, hair damp, beard trimmed. His blue eyes were steady on mine. "Even when I thought my kid would never speak to me again." He crossed his arms. "That’s not nothing."
I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat was too tight.
Mandie’s hand landed on my shoulder. A light touch, but it grounded me.
"You keep acting like you’re a fraud, Sebastian.
Like you don’t deserve to be here. But you’ve saved every single one of us in ways you don’t even realize.
" Her fingers tightened. "Look at the people who are still here because of you. "
The air left my lungs. I looked around the room. Johnny, with his punk-rock armor and vulnerable eyes. Roger, strong but carrying a mountain of guilt. Donovan, quiet, artistic, scarred. Matt, a giant just wanting to be a father again.
And Mandie. Always Mandie.
She was watching me, expression unreadable but grip firm. Holding me together.
I swallowed. "I don’t know what to say."
"You don’t have to say anything," she murmured. "Just stop acting like you’re the only one who’s ever failed someone. We’ve all got blood on our hands, Doc. But we’re still here. And that’s because of you."
I exhaled, long and slow. The weight in my chest didn’t vanish, but it shifted. A stone rolling off my ribs, just enough to let air in.
Johnny grinned suddenly, breaking the tension. "Besides, Doc, if you keep moping like a sad puppy, we’re gonna start charging rent for the emotional support."
Roger barked a laugh. "Yeah, and at this rate, you’re gonna owe us big time."
Donovan smirked, shoulders relaxing. "I accept payment in sketching supplies."
Matt nodded, a faint quirk to his lips. "Coffee works for me."
Mandie rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile tugged at her mouth. "God, you’re all insufferable."
But she didn’t let go of my shoulder.
I looked at them. My team. My family. For the first time in a long time, the guilt didn’t feel like a noose. It was still there, but it wasn’t the only thing defining me.
I reached up, covering Mandie’s hand with mine. Her skin was warm, fingers calloused from weapons and survival.
"Thank you," I said, my voice rough.
She held my gaze, her hazel eyes unyielding. There was no pity there, just a hard, clear truth that I couldn't look away from.
"Don’t mention it," she murmured. Her fingers tightened on my shoulder, a grounding weight. "Just remember one thing. You saved more people as Sebastian than you ever did as Liquen."
The words settled into the cracks of my armor, heavy and absolute. And for the first time, I didn't try to wash them away.