Sebastian didn't move.
Phone pressed to his ear.
Lillian's voice.
Soft. Steady. There.
"Sebastian… talk to me."
His chest rose too fast.
Air stuck.
Hands shaking.
"…I…"
Nothing.
The room pressed in.
Walls closer.
Shadows heavier.
The photo still there.
Watching him.
"In," she said gently.
"Slowly."
He tried.
Uneven.
"Out."
A breath left him.
Shaky. Weak.
Again.
"In… two… three…"
He followed.
"…Out…"
Another breath.
Still tight.
Still wrong.
But less sharp.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"…My room," he whispered.
"Your room?"
"…Old room."
A pause.
She understood.
"Okay," she said softly.
"Tell me what you see."
His eyes moved.
Desk.
Wardrobe.
Shelves.
"…Nothing changed," he muttered.
Silence.
Then—
"Are you looking at something?" she asked.
His jaw tightened.
"…Yes... A picture."
Another breath.
Unsteady.
"They're… smiling," he said.
Voice breaking.
"Who?"
"…My mom."
Pause.
"…My brother."
The word lingered.
Heavy.
Sharp.
"They look happy," he added.
Barely a whisper.
Silence stretched.
Then—
"It's not your fault," Lillian said gently.
His head shook immediately.
"No."
Too fast.
Too certain.
"It is."
His voice dropped.
"…It's always been."
The air shifted.
He could feel it again.
That pressure.
That weight.
Crushing.
"I should have—."
He stopped.
Jaw clenched.
"I could have—."
He stopped again.
Breathing picking up.
"No," she said softly.
"Don't go there."
Too late.
The thoughts were already there.
Loud.
Relentless.
Footsteps outside.
Voices.
Low.
Muffled.
But close.
"…He's in there…"
"…After nine years…"
"…They really let him come back…"
"…The other one…"
Sebastian froze.
Hands tightening.
Chest tightening.
"…Sebastian?"
Lillian heard it.
The shift.
"Talk to me."
His voice dropped.
"…They're talking."
"Who?"
"…Them."
A breath.
"…Family."
The word felt wrong.
"They don't matter," she said immediately.
"They do," he muttered.
"They don't," she repeated.
"Not right now."
Another whisper outside.
"…He shouldn't even be here…"
"…Look at him…"
"…Just like—."
Sebastian shut his eyes.
Hard.
Hands shaking again.
Faster now.
"Focus on me," Lillian said.
Firm.
"Not them."
He tried.
God, he tried.
"…I can't," he whispered.
"Yes, you can."
Her voice didn't waver.
"Stay with me."
Silence.
Then—
"…Stay on the phone," he said.
Quiet.
Almost pleading.
"I'm not going anywhere," she replied.
Immediate.
Certain.
A breath left him.
Shaky.
Small.
"…I love you," she said softly.
The words hit.
Harder than anything else.
His chest tightened.
Heart stuttered.
Silence.
He wanted to say it.
He did.
The words were there.
Right there.
But they wouldn't come out.
They never did.
"…Don't," he muttered instead.
Wrong answer.
But the only one he had.
"Too late," she said gently.
No pressure.
No expectation.
Just truth.
His hand tightened around the phone.
"…I can't…"
"I know," she said.
Soft. Understanding.
"You don't have to."
A breath.
Longer this time.
Steadier.
Something in his chest loosened.
Just a little.
"…Stay," he said again.
"I'm here."
Always.
He stood.
Slowly.
Legs unsteady.
Room shifting slightly.
But he stayed upright.
That was new.
That was something.
"…Good," she murmured.
"Stay with that."
His hand brushed the shelf.
The photo.
He didn't pick it up this time.
Just touched it.
Lightly.
"…I'm sorry," he whispered.
Too quiet for anyone else.
But not for him.
Not for them.
Knock.
Sharp.
Controlled.
He froze.
"…Mr. Wolfe."
The butler.
Of course.
"…Your father is ready to see you at the hospital."
Silence.
Everything went still.
Even his breathing.
"…Sebastian?"
Lillian again.
Quiet. Careful.
"…I heard that."
He swallowed.
"…I have to go."
The words felt heavy.
Final.
"I know," she said.
Soft.
"But you can do this."
His hand tightened on the phone.
He didn't move.
Didn't answer.
Just stood there.
Between the past…
And what came next.
"Go," she said gently.
Not pushing.
But not letting him stay either.
"I'm right here."
A breath.
Then another.
Steadier now.
"…Okay," he whispered.
He walked to the door.
Each step measured.
Controlled.
Back to what he knew.
Hand on the handle.
Cold metal.
Real.
Grounding.
Phone still at his ear.
Her voice still there.
Safe.
"…I'll call you later," he said.
Quiet.
Careful.
Not what he wanted to say.
But close enough.
A pause.
"…I'll be here," she replied.
Soft. Certain.
Another second.
Then—
He pulled the phone away.
Screen glowing.
Her name still there.
Lillian.
His thumb hovered.
Just for a moment.
Then—
The call ended.
Silence.
Immediate.
Heavy.
Different.
No voice.
No anchor.
Just him.
Alone.
He opened the door.
The hallway stretched ahead.
Long.
Familiar.
Unforgiving.
Relatives stood nearby.
They stopped talking.
All at once.
Eyes turned to him.
Watching.
Judging.
Measuring.
He didn't react.
Didn't slow.
Didn't care.
Or pretended not to.
He walked past them.
Steps steady.
Controlled.
Cold.
Back to Sebastian Wolfe.
Down the stairs.
Each step quieter than it should be.
The house watching.
Always watching.
The front doors opened.
Cold air hit him.
Sharp.
Clean.
Real.
The car waited.
Engine already running.
Driver at attention.
"Sir."
Sebastian nodded.
Nothing more.
He got in.
Door shut.
Silence again.
But different this time.
No voice in his ear.
No one guiding him.
Just the hum of the engine.
And his thoughts.
The car moved.
Gates opened.
The estate faded behind him.
Slowly.
Then gone.
Road ahead.
Washington passing by.
Gray buildings.
Cold sky.
Unfamiliar…
Yet not.
His hands rested on his lap.
Still slightly tense.
But not shaking anymore.
Progress.
Small.
But real.
He exhaled.
Long.
Slow.
"…One step at a time," he muttered.
Her words.
Still there.
Even without the call.
Traffic lights.
Turns.
Familiar roads.
Memories trying to creep back in.
He pushed them down.
Not now.
Not here.
Not yet.
The hospital came into view.
White.
Sterile.
Waiting.
His chest tightened again.
But not like before.
This was different.
Controlled fear.
Contained.
The car slowed.
Then stopped.
Engine idling.
The driver turned slightly.
"We're here, sir."
Sebastian nodded.
Of course they were.
He didn't move immediately.
Just sat there.
Looking at the entrance.
Doors sliding open.
People moving in and out.
Life.
Death.
Waiting.
He reached into his pocket.
Phone still there.
Screen dark now.
Call ended.
But her voice…
Still in his head.
Still steady.
Still there.
He exhaled.
Opened the door.
Cold air rushed in again.
He stepped out.
Straightened slightly.
Back straight.
Composed.
Always composed.
The doors ahead.
Waiting.
He started walking.
Step by step.
Alone.