Asher sat up immediately, concern flashing in his groggy eyes. "Oh great! Answer it."
Lucien pressed the green button. "Hello?"
A voice cut through, sharp and edged with worry:
"Asher? Where the hell are you?"
Lucien cleared his throat. "This is Lucien. Asher's here, but—"
"Lucien?" Magnus Robin's voice dipped an octave, laced now with concern masked in frustration. "Why do you have Asher's phone? Where's my wife? It's past eight. I was told she'd be back fifteen minutes ago."
Lucien sighed, rubbing a hand over his temple.
"Magnus. Listen to me—there was an attack. At Asher's estate. We were ambushed. We had to evacuate Elora and the children. She's safe now at my estate, I hired extra bodyguards for tonight."
There was silence on the other end. Not the calm kind. The dangerous kind.
Then:
"You mean to tell me that my wife was caught in violence again—and I'm finding out from you, not Asher?"
Lucien's voice tensed. "She was protected. She's being treated. Seraphine was there too. The children are unharmed. We didn't have time to call anyone—our priority was to get them out alive."
Magnus's breathing grew louder. "Do you even know what she's gone through in the past? And now you let her run straight into danger again?"
Lucien bit down on his tongue. His hands clenched. He counted to five. "Don't you dare insinuate that we don't care. I personally carried her out. She wouldn't have survived if we hadn't intervened."
A long silence followed.
Magnus exhaled harshly. His voice, now quieter, still simmered with accusation:
"Put Asher on. I trusted him with my wife's life. He gave me his word."
Lucien turned to Asher and handed him the phone with a sharp look. Asher nodded solemnly and took the call.
"Magnus—"
"You promised me, Asher. You swore you'd bring her back before dark. What happened?!"
Asher winced, pulling the blanket tighter around his bruised shoulders.
"Magnus, I know. And I would've. But we were ambushed. These weren't just petty intruders. They were organized. Armed. We fought them off—barely and just sat tired right nwo. I had to put your wife and your son into a car with Lucien's guards. I swear to you—they're safe."
Magnus's voice cracked.
"Is she okay?"
"Hurt. Tired. But alive. Being treated right now by our private medics. Ethan's asleep with Daniel. We didn't even get to sleep ourselves yet. We're still covered in blood and bruises. I'm not proud of what happened, but I won't let anyone touch her again."
There was a long pause before Magnus's tone dropped cold again.
"You should've called me the second you had her in your car."
"I know," Asher said. "That's on me. But next time, your anger can wait. Your wife nearly died tonight."
The line clicked dead.
Asher sat there, jaw tight, knuckles whitening around the phone.
Lucien whispered, "He hung up?"
Asher didn't answer immediately. Then: "Yeah. He's scared. He doesn't know how close it was."
Lucien responded, "Oh great," just as a deafening thunder erupted from the skies above the crumbled mansion. The room shook slightly, the rain beginning to hiss against the shattered windows.
Inside the half-destroyed guesthouse, the two brothers sat side by side on a torn-up sofa—faces bruised, shoulders wrapped, hair still singed with smoke, and clothes stained with the evidence of a near massacre.
They sat quietly, exhausted, grim… until Lucien broke the silence with a muttered groan.
"Ugh, this cut's killing me. I can't even see it. Ash, give me a hand?"
"Sure, darling brother," Asher said dramatically, snatching the tiny yellow-brown tube of medicinal ointment. His expression looked too eager.
Lucien didn't notice the gleam in Asher's eyes. He turned his cheek trustingly, exposing a shallow scrape near his lips. "Careful. Just dab it, don't be a—"
Too late.
Asher brought the cotton swab to his nose first, took a theatrical whiff, recoiled in disgust—"Smells like grandma's soup and regret,"—and then, with absolute mischief, smeared it directly onto Lucien's lips instead of the wound.
Lucien recoiled instantly like he'd been hit with acid.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" He spat, smacked his lips like a cat that bit a lemon, and flailed his arms in chaos.
"ASHER!"
Asher burst into helpless laughter, practically rolling off the couch. "You should've seen your face! You looked like you just kissed a toad dipped in turmeric!" Asher knew he was being a little shit.
Lucien ran to the nearest mirror, staring at the golden smear on his lips. "It tastes like regret, mold, and expired honey!"
"A bold flavour profile," Asher said between wheezes. "Very artisan."
Lucien whipped the nearest pillow and launched it at him, hitting Asher square in the ribs. "You're a menace."
"You're lucky I didn't draw a mustache on you with it."
Despite himself, Lucien finally cracked a small, reluctant smile. He wiped off the ointment with a grunt, muttering darkly, "You're lucky we're not still in combat or I'd feed you to those cloaked freaks."
Asher leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Ah, nothing like a near-death experience to bring out our best selves."
The thunder rolled again outside, but inside, amid the destroyed estate, laughter softened the bruises and stitched something else back together—something like brotherhood.
Just then, Lucien's own phone buzzed. He picked it up.
"Sera?"
Her voice came through, low and weary.
"Lucien…"
"Everything alright, my angel?"
"Magnus came to pick up Elora. He was angry. Didn't speak much. She limped to the door. I tried to ask her but she wouldn't say anything."
Lucien leaned back against the wall, jaw clenched.
"Let her rest. And stay put. I need to know you and Daniel are safe tonight. There are guards at every entrance, cameras activated in our house. Promise me you won't step out."
"I promise," Seraphine whispered. "Lucien… thank you. For everything."
His heart softened just a bit.
"Sleep, angel. We've got this now."
As the line ended, the night outside their battered safehouse was still. Inside, the flicker of safety was all that remained—fragile, but alive.