251. Apple Bunnies

251. Apple Bunnies
Sebastian’s expression softens, and the teasing, the sarcasm, even his smile slowly fade until all that’s left is calm. He falls quiet—and really, we all do—losing himself in thought until finally, still pensive, his voice rougher than before, he says, “Honestly, that plan was insane. We’re lucky it worked.”

So many things could have gone wrong. Much worse. Elodie could have been hurt in my place. Evelyn could have shot Sebastian in the head—or shot me. Henry.

Letting my guard down like that, not grasping the depth of Evelyn’s madness, of her hatred, and putting myself at risk was a mistake. A foolish, naïve mistake. I see that now. I thought Lazarus was the only real threat to my life, and I didn’t consider she could harm me even with the police on site.

That’s what sours in my mouth.
Because I insisted on watching her ruin for pure selfishness…
And nearly destroyed someone else in the process.

“I don’t deal in luck,” William cuts in, though his jaw is tight. “The stakes were high, but I wouldn’t have gone that far if I wasn’t sure I could stop them. Black Scythe is an organization of killers, but there’s a reason they’re one of the biggest in the world, and they didn’t last two decades by being reckless. They wouldn’t get involved in murdering a noblewoman—not for the kind of money someone like Evelyn could offer.”

Then, as if a lightbulb flashes in his head, William breaks into a mischievous grin. “By the way, they tried to recruit me! Can you believe it?!”

“What?” I nearly choke, my head snapping toward Will, slicing through my haze of worry.

“Who the hell stroked his ego?” Sebastian asks, his face caught between disbelief and mock disgust.

“Better not to ask.” Christopher sighs, weary, taking an apple from the basket along with a silver knife.

“They were impressed with my skills.” William goes on, ignoring the cousins. “Do you know what that means?”

“That you’re weird?” I retort, giving him a weak swat to the back of the head. “Why are you proud of that? Honestly, you sound like a child.”

“It’s not pride. It’s recognition.” William adjusts his shirt as if he’s just been decorated with a medal. “Something you all never give me.”

“Recognition from the underworld, congratulations,” Christopher drawls, peeling the apple with surgical precision, the skin coming off in a perfect spiral. “You must be so proud to be a rising star on the psychopath list.”

“Wait a minute…” Sebastian raises his hand theatrically, despite his obvious exhaustion. “If assassins wanted to recruit William… then maybe he finally found people who can match his twisted sense of humor!”

“You’re all ungrateful.” William shoots back, though the crooked smile doesn’t leave his face. “Thanks to me, Lazarus is gone and Evelyn is dead. Show some damn gratitude.”

Dead. The word lands heavy, so heavy that Christopher’s knife stalls a fraction deeper into the apple. My breath falters in my throat.

“William. I’m not sure that’s something to brag about…” I start, but William cuts me off, his voice cold in that unsettling way—

“Well, I am. I didn’t want Evelyn dead or Sebastian in this bed. I wanted her in prison, paying for her crimes, where she belonged. But she was a crazy bitch, and she brought this on herself. I did what I had to do to protect Charlotte, and I don’t regret it one damn bit.”

Even as he says it, his jaw clenches harder, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a rough swallow. His eyes shine with something that betrays the words. But maybe because he’s willing to shoulder the burden alone—or because he’s used to it—William chooses to repress it. Such a Houghton thing to do, isn’t it?

Christopher resumes peeling the apple, slicing each piece with almost surgical precision. Sebastian says something, William bites back, and even Elodie’s voice blends into a blur in my head. I can’t focus, not when—

Christopher is making bunnies.

He’s carving little apple bunnies.

Just like the ones that used to appear in my room after brutal dialysis sessions.

My eyes widen slightly.
I always thought it was Lucia who left them there.
But was it Christopher all along?

“So that’s it,” Sebastian says, pulling my gaze—and Christopher’s too, as he sets the tiny bunnies onto a ceramic plate. “It’s really over. Everything can go back to normal.”

And just like that, his words hit my chest, all our chests, like a blow that knocks the air out. They make me blink fast, my eyes burning as they fall to my hands—clean now, yet still stained in my mind with the blood he spilled for me.

Normal.
Can things really go back to normal?

“You all look like a bunch of widows mourning me.” His voice is raspy but gentle. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Sebastian.” Somehow I find my voice. It comes out firmer than I meant, irritated even. “Can you treat this with a little more seriousness, please? You…” I choke, words sticking in my throat. “You could have died. Maybe you won’t even—”

I stop, unable to say it aloud. But he knows. The way his smile fades, his face turning impassive, slices through me. I didn’t want this. Didn’t want to rob him of that smile again, like I’ve done so many times before. But this—I can’t stand this either.

I know he’s holding on to that smile so we won’t have to worry about him. Or worse, because deep down he thinks he deserves this.

I don’t want him to feel like he has to pretend with us. We are his family, imperfect as we are. We may clash, fail, stumble through hard times, but we’ll be here for each other. This nightmare proved that. Proved that if we let ourselves open up—even just a little—we don’t have to be alone. We don’t have to lie in a hospital bed or a dark room, trapped in shadows of pain and regret.

I want us to be together, finally. All of us. Like the family none of us valued the first time around.

I lift my eyes again, so blurred with tears I can barely see his expression. My fingers twist the sides of my skirt, fighting back the sob clawing its way out of my throat.

“Can I have a minute with Charlotte?” Sebastian asks, never breaking eye contact with me.

William and Elodie leave without hesitation, but Christopher lingers just for a beat. He sets the plate on the bedside table, next to the basket I know Sebastian secretly loved, then heads for the door.

When he pauses beside me, he presses a kiss to the top of my head and slips out, the door clicking shut behind him.

A heavy tear drops from my eye without even rolling down my cheek. Still, I wipe my face, as if that could hide it, though Sebastian has already seen.

“Why are you standing there by the door like you’re ready to bolt any second?” He tries to tease, but my grimace makes his smile wilt. “Relax… I’m not about to chase you.”

“Stop. I know Grant already told you, Sebastian.”

He sighs long and loud, running a hand through the hair that insists on falling over his forehead in thick, sweaty waves. “Yeah, he told me.”

I approach in short, hesitant steps and sit on the edge of his bed. I don’t look at him—I can’t. My eyes wander instead to the floor, the walls that aren’t white but pearly, though the softer color does nothing to ease the heaviness in my chest. Eventually, my gaze drops to my hands, my fingers tangling, fighting with each other.

“How can you joke when there’s a chance you might never walk again?” I ask, my voice so low it almost disappears beneath the steady beep of the heart monitor, betraying Sebastian’s calm. His heartbeat doesn’t climb above eighty, not even after I say it out loud.

“I’ve got a spinal injury, yes. That’s true.” Sebastian’s tone is thoughtful, drawing my eyes back to his face. But he isn’t looking at me—his gaze is fixed on the window, on the blue sky stretched across the horizon. “But Grant also told me there’s still hope. It’s not a sentence, Charlotte. And it won’t be easy. I’ll need a lot of therapy, a long road of treatment, but there’s a chance I’ll walk again.”

Finally, Sebastian turns to me, and through my tears—tears that start to ease with his calm, with the reassurance in his voice—I see him clearly.

His eyes lock on mine, serene as the sea after a violent storm.

“You’re not scared?” It’s not really a question, more a truth I feel in my bones.

I don’t see resignation. I don’t see pain…
I see peace. A deep peace with himself.

“Honestly?” He gives me a faint smile. “No. I’m not scared, Charlotte.”

He extends his hand, a silent offering I can’t and won’t refuse. I slip mine into his, gently, with the kind of old familiarity that needs no words. His grip is light—maybe all the strength he has right now, because even before, his touch was stronger, more commanding.

And yet Sebastian doesn’t seem fragile. Not the way I expected. He doesn’t seem shattered, broken, or someone needing to be saved. He says he isn’t afraid, and I believe him. God, I don’t know how it’s possible, but I believe him.