The hospital lights were merciless. Too bright, too sterile, stripping the night's violence down to white walls and antiseptic silence.
But Sebastian didn't see any of it.
He sat by Sera's bedside, his once-flawless tuxedo ruined—black fabric torn, the white shirt beneath soaked in her blood. His hands were clasped around hers, fingers locked tight, as though letting go for even a second might let her slip away. His knuckles were raw, bruised, and trembling.
"Stay with me, Valmont," he whispered hoarsely, bowing his forehead against the back of her hand. "You don't get to leave me now. Not after everything."
The machines hummed softly, her pulse steady but fragile on the monitor. Each green flicker was both salvation and torture.
When the door opened, he stiffened.
Marcus Valmont entered, regal even in disarray, his tailored suit rumpled from the chaos of the night. The sight of Sebastian at his daughter's side would once have drawn sharp words, maybe a demand for distance. But tonight was different.
Marcus looked at his bloodied heir of shadows, at the boy who had carried Seraphina out of hell itself, and something shifted.
He did not order Sebastian to leave.
He did not remind him of dynastic divides.
He only exhaled, long and weary, and rested a hand on his daughter's crown of braids.
"I see," Marcus murmured. "You've chosen your war, Seraphina."
And for once, he allowed it.
-----
Later, when the corridors had quieted and Marcus had stepped out to confer with the physicians, the door opened again.
Selene Blackwell slipped inside.
Her eyes, usually blades, softened when they landed on her twin. Sebastian looked up from his vigil, exhaustion carved into his face, but she didn't sneer or strike. She only crossed the room, silent, until she stood at the foot of Seraphina's bed.
"I don't like her," Selene admitted at last, her voice low, taut with things unspoken. Her gaze flicked to Sera—pale, fragile, but unbroken—and then back to Sebastian, who sat unmoving, his grip iron around the heiress's hand.
Selene's jaw tightened. "But if you've chosen her… then I will not be your enemy."
The words hung between them, heavy, reluctant, but real.
For the first time, Seraphina and Selene found fragile common ground—not friendship, not trust, but something rawer. A truce forged not from affection, but from the realization that the boy at the center of both their worlds had already chosen his fate.
Selene's eyes lingered on her twin, softer than the shadows she usually wore. "Don't make me regret this, brother."
She left as quietly as she came, the echo of her heels fading down the hall.
And in the quiet that followed, Sebastian bent once more over Seraphina's hand, pressing his lips against her skin like a vow.
"Always."