The next afternoon, Sebastian was preparing for a client presentation at the architectural firm where he worked.

Lucian watched him review drawings at the kitchen counter, his expression focused, his coffee cooling beside his laptop.

“You've been working all day,” Lucian said.

“Observant.”

“Maybe you should relax.”

Sebastian looked up. “What did you break?”

“Nothing!”

The accusation annoyed him enough to silence the small warning in his head.

When Sebastian went upstairs to retrieve a folder, Lucian uncapped the herbal drops and tipped some into the mug. He didn't measure them. He didn't check the ingredients.

He told himself it was harmless.

Sebastian returned, drank his coffee, and resumed work. Lucian sat across from him, waiting for a dramatic yawn or a sudden need for sleep.

Nothing happened for nearly an hour.

Then Sebastian's hand stopped moving across the page.

He pressed two fingers to his temple.

“You okay?” Lucian asked.

“Dizzy.”

Sebastian stood too quickly. The chair scraped backward. He caught the counter, breathing through his nose.

Lucian felt a sharp prick of unease.

“Maybe sit down.”

Sebastian shook his head and moved toward the stairs, where his phone was charging. Halfway there, his knee buckled.

He struck the banister with one shoulder and collapsed onto the bottom step.

“Sebastian?”

Lucian waited for a sarcastic reply.

None came.

Sebastian tried to push himself upright. Pain crossed his face so suddenly that Lucian barely recognized him.

“Don't move,” Sebastian managed.

Lucian knelt beside him. “What happened?”

“My back.”

His voice was thin, stripped of its usual certainty. One hand gripped the stair rail; the other trembled against his thigh.

Lucian's stomach dropped.

“I put something in your coffee,” he blurted.

Sebastian turned his head with visible effort. “What?”

“Just sleep drops. I thought— I didn't think—”

“Call an ambulance.”

Lucian's fingers fumbled so badly he nearly dropped his phone.

He gave the dispatcher their address, described the collapse, and admitted what he had done. The dispatcher told him not to move Sebastian unless there was immediate danger.

Lucian sat on the floor beside him, crying without making a sound.

“Talk to me,” Sebastian said through clenched teeth.

“About what?”

“Anything. Keep talking.”

Lucian told him about the broken kitchen timer, the neighbor's barking dog, the painting he'd abandoned last week. His words tumbled over each other.

Sebastian closed his eyes.

“Stay awake,” Lucian whispered, terrified.

“I'm awake.”

“You look awful.”

“Thank you.”

That faint attempt at sarcasm nearly undid him.

Paramedics arrived within minutes. They asked questions about medication, allergies, and the substance in the coffee.

Lucian handed over the bottle with shaking hands.

At the hospital, a physician explained that Sebastian had experienced an adverse reaction and a severe flare of an existing spinal injury. Further testing was necessary, but the initial examination showed no evidence of permanent new damage.

Lucian clung to those words.

No permanent new damage.

It didn't make what he'd done less terrible.

The doctor looked directly at him. “Never put any substance into someone's food or drink without their knowledge. Even products sold as natural can cause serious harm.”

The waiting room smelled of disinfectant and burnt coffee. Lucian sat with his knees bouncing, unable to stop replaying the fall.

A man across from him offered a packet of tissues. Lucian accepted it with a whispered thank you, then stared at the unopened packet in his hands.

His phone rang. Evelyn.

“Lucian? Margaret said Sebastian was taken to the hospital. What happened?”

Lucian tried to answer, but his throat closed.

“Sweetheart?”

“I did something stupid.”

He told her everything. The prank, the bottle, the collapse. He expected shouting. Instead, his mother went quiet.

“Is he conscious?” she asked at last.

“Yes.”

“Have you told the doctors exactly what you gave him?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That was the right thing to do. Now listen carefully: you must tell Sebastian the truth, accept what comes next, and never do anything like this again.”

Lucian pressed a tissue to his eyes. “I think he hates me.”

“He may be angry for a long time. You have to let him be.”

“I don't want him to hate me.”

“I know.”

Margaret called next. She had already spoken to the hospital and was on her way from a conference. Her voice shook when she asked whether Sebastian was in pain.

Lucian couldn't lie to Aunt Maggie.

“Yes,” he whispered. “A lot.”

She drew a breath. “Stay there until I arrive.”

When Margaret appeared, she hugged Lucian once before going to her son. The hug was brief, but it made him cry harder.

Through the half-open door, he heard Sebastian insist that he was fine. Margaret responded with the same disbelieving tone she had used when both boys were children.

“You're allowed to be hurt,” she said. “You don't have to impress me.”

Lucian looked down at his hands. He had spent his whole life demanding attention. Sebastian had spent his pretending he didn't need any.

For the first time, Lucian wondered what Sebastian might have been hiding beneath that calm expression.

A nurse came out and told him he could return to the room. He stood too quickly, dizzy with relief and dread.

Before he went inside, he put the little bottle in a sealed bag for the medical team. He wanted no excuses left between himself and the truth.

“I know,” Lucian whispered.

“You didn't know before. You need to understand now.”

Lucian remembered another detail from the accident: Sebastian's watch had stopped at 6:17. He had teased him for wearing a broken watch afterward. Now the memory made his stomach twist. He wished he'd understood what the stopped hands meant: a moment Sebastian had paid for with years of pain.

He sat beside the bed and finally let the fear settle into something useful. He would tell the truth every time somebody asked. He would never call what happened a harmless prank. Sebastian deserved better than excuses.

Lucian nodded, unable to defend himself.

Sebastian lay on the bed with his eyes closed. His face had regained some color, but the strain around his mouth remained.

Lucian moved closer. “I'm sorry.”

Sebastian didn't answer.

“Please say something.”

“What would you like me to say?”

“Yell at me.”

Sebastian opened his eyes. “I'm too tired to yell.”

That hurt more than anger would have.

A nurse arrived to check Sebastian's pain level and mentioned his prior medical history. Lucian heard the words chronic injury and rehabilitation.

“Was it from the fall?” he asked.

The nurse glanced at the chart. “Four years ago. He was injured while protecting someone, according to the notes.”

Sebastian's eyes opened sharply. “That's enough.”

The nurse apologized and moved on.

Lucian barely heard her.

Four years ago.

A road slick with rain. A car sliding around a bend near the lake house. Sebastian's arm closing around him. The world tilting as they went over the embankment.

Lucian had awakened in a clinic with a bruised shoulder. His mother said Sebastian had fallen trying to get out of the way.

He remembered being furious because Sebastian had missed their planned trip to the beach.

He remembered Sebastian smiling weakly and saying, “Don't be dramatic, Lucy.”

He had never asked why Sebastian couldn't stand straight for weeks.

Lucian looked at the man on the hospital bed, then at his own hands.

“Was it me?” he whispered.

Sebastian stared at the ceiling.

“Go home, Lucian.”

“Was it me you saved?”

Sebastian closed his eyes again.

His silence answered everything.