249. “It’s not the end.”

249. “It’s not the end.”
Grant walks out with a tired expression, his shoulders tense and low, as if the weight of the world rests on them. His immaculate lab coat contrasts sharply with my clothes, with my bloodstained hands, and for a moment, I almost convince myself this is all a mistake. That Sebastian isn’t in surgery. That he didn’t lose so much blood and might not lose the use of his legs.

But with every step Grant takes, reality claws the air out of my lungs, and by the time he finally stops a few feet away, looking at each of us for a long moment, I’ve already forgotten how to breathe.

“The surgery ended just a little while ago,” Grant says, making my breath catch in my throat. Christopher tightens his hold on me, as if he could keep me upright, and William pushes himself off the wall with a jolt, moving closer with a nervousness he doesn’t even bother to hide. “Sebastian is alive. He lost a lot of blood, but he survived.”

“Thank God…” I whisper, a wave of relief crashing into my chest so hard my knees almost buckle.

William runs a hand over his mouth, stifling a sound that’s part nervous laugh, part sob. His reddened eyes glint under the cold corridor light.
“I knew it…” He tries to sound steady, but his voice wavers. “I knew that bastard wouldn’t just leave us like that.”

“But?” Christopher squeezes my waist a little tighter, as if the gesture alone could stop him from breaking. “I know you well enough to recognize when bad news follows the good.”

Grant lowers his eyes for a moment, and the silence that follows is almost crueler than any word. The distant tick of the wall clock seems to mock us, marking every second like torture. When he raises his gaze again, there’s a weight there none of us is ready to carry.

“But the bullet hit the thoracic region of his spinal cord.” His voice is steady but slow, professional. Even now, he wants us to understand what his words mean—what all of this will mean for us. “It wasn’t severe damage. But it also wasn’t light or insignificant.”

“What does that mean?” William steps closer and grips Christopher’s shoulder, as if that could keep him from rushing in to see with his own eyes that Sebastian is alive. And I can understand him.

The last time they saw each other, William was so angry and hurt he turned his face away, unable to look at him. I can only imagine how bitter it must taste now to think Sebastian might have died after that indifference. It must be a pain that eats at him.

I glance at Christopher from the corner of my eye, his jaw locked and his breath heavy despite his control.

“The situation is serious.” Grant pauses briefly, choosing every word carefully. “Right now, there’s no motor or sensory response below the injury. He can’t feel his legs. He can’t move them.”

William lets out a muffled curse under his breath, too drained to shout, his hands flying to his hair, tugging with frustration. The gesture is so desperate I almost think he’ll collapse right there.

“And that’s…” My voice barely comes out, hoarse and trembling. “Permanent? Could he be paralyzed?”

“We can’t say for sure.” Grant doesn’t sugarcoat it, but his voice softens. “But yes, there’s that possibility.”

My chest tightens, a strangled sob tearing the air from me.

“It’s not a definitive sentence,” he continues quickly, maybe to give us something to hold onto. “There are cases where some function returns over time, with rehabilitation and constant stimulation. Especially with the kind of injury he has. But there are also those where recovery doesn’t happen. Right now, it’s impossible to predict.”

I sit down. Or rather, collapse onto the nearest bench, my elbows on my thighs and my hands covering my face, breathing in the metallic smell of dried blood on my fingers.

The image of his body over mine, his heavy eyes, the gunshot echoing in my head, and his voice saying, don’t look, Charlotte—it all hits me like a punch to the gut.

Even knowing this is exactly what Evelyn would have wanted, I can’t stop feeling guilty. I swallow the knot in my throat. Or try to. My throat is too dry. I try to wet my lips, but they stay cracked.

Christopher kneels beside me on the cold floor. He doesn’t say anything, just holds my trembling, bloodstained hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles. I feel the warmth of his skin against mine, and it anchors me a little. Just a little. I probably won’t feel okay until I see him. Until I see him standing.

“Can we see him?” William asks, finally finding his voice again, but it comes out as strangled as mine.

“He’s still sedated. Intubated.” Grant speaks with that professional calm that could make me forget how close he is to the family. “Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea. The immediate post-op phase is delicate, and his body needs absolute rest right now.”

Christopher lifts his head, looking at Grant with slightly reddened eyes. He nods once, curtly, as if against his will, and I can’t even imagine what’s going through his mind right now.

Their relationship isn’t the best. It never was. Too much rivalry, ego, misunderstanding—just like there was between Christopher and me. And now, just when they’d finally started to mend things, this happens.

Will Sebastian hate us? Will he shut down again?
Will the fragile little bridge we were building burn under Evelyn’s ghost?

“I’ll keep you updated. If there’s any change, I’ll let you know.” He looks at Christopher, then at William. “But for now, the best thing you can do for him… is rest. Go home, change your clothes… I’ll call as soon as he wakes up.”

Christopher stands slowly, as if his body has gotten even heavier, and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you, Grant. For everything.”

Grant just nods, the exhaustion in his face going beyond the physical. Well, it’s only natural… We just lost Marshall, and now another Houghton is fighting on an operating table. Then, with one last look at each of us, he turns and disappears back down the surgery corridor.

William drags himself into the chair beside me and slumps into it with the weight of someone who’s carried the world on his back, half sitting, half sprawled. His head tips back, his tired eyes fixed on the ceiling in silence. His chest rises and falls heavily, and for a moment, I think a sob will escape him, but no sound comes.

Christopher steps away a little, short, aimless steps, his hands shoved into his pockets, maybe to hide their trembling, maybe to ground himself. The silence stretches on, and none of us seems willing to leave, despite Grant’s suggestion.

“Please…” My weak voice finally breaks the silence, and both of them seem relieved to have something fill the air. “At least tell me it’s over.”

“Evelyn is dead,” Christopher says firmly, without turning to me. “Lazarus won’t be a problem anymore either.”

“What do you mean by that?” I lift my eyes a little, my hands trembling in my lap.

“He means it’s over,” William says, his head tipping just enough to look at me.

“Then why doesn’t it feel like closure?” I tilt my head back too, staring at the white ceiling.

“Because it’s not the end.” Christopher turns slowly, making both William and me drop our gazes to look at him properly—because for the first time since this night began, he’s smiling. Small, soft, just a faint lift of his lips. But genuine… One that actually reaches his eyes and makes William and me find ourselves smiling too, silly and relieved.

“…It’s a new beginning.”