Page 52 of Knot the Last Chapter

Rhys

The fire has burned low, casting a soft amber glow across the living room. Outside, the storm rages on, hammering the windows with gusts of wind and rain, but inside, everything feels still.

Lila sleeps in the living room, just next door.

We’re in the kitchen now. I keep glancing toward the door like I’ll hear her stir. Like just watching the door is enough to make sure she’s okay.

Corwyn is by the stove, heating up more water, probably out of habit. Tyler leans against the counter, towel still hanging around his neck, soaked shirt traded for a dry one that clings to his broad frame. He hasn’t stopped pacing.

“She’s stable,” I remind them. Mostly for him.

“She shouldn’t have been out there,” Tyler mutters, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve noticed sooner.”

The truth is, we all felt it. The moment she was missing, something shifted. There was no debate. No hesitation. Just pure instinct. We moved together like we’d trained for it—like we were one body with one goal: get her home.

I stir the tea I haven’t touched. “You feel it too, right?”

They both glance at me.

“That bond trying to happen,” I continue, voice low. “The way it wants to form around her.”

Corwyn nods, slowly. “It’s like gravity.”

Tyler looks toward the hallway again. “It’s more than that.”

We fall into a stretch of silence. It’s not uncomfortable. Just thick with things unsaid.

After a while, Corwyn lowers himself into the chair opposite me. “You remember when your parents brought us home?”

“Of course.”

Tyler folds his arms. “Corwyn wouldn’t speak above a whisper. And I broke the garden gnome the first night.”

“I liked that gnome,” I mutter.

They chuckle quietly. We were a patchwork family from the start. My parents, and my grandparents, all of us living here at the time, had taken in Corwyn and Tyler like they were their own. There was no legal adoption, but it didn’t matter. We were brothers. Blood never factored in.

And we’d promised each other we’d stay that way—no matter who came into our lives.

But Lila... Lila had rewritten everything.

“She’s mad at you,” Corwyn says with the kind of grin that makes Tyler groan.

“Yeah,” Tyler mutters. “And she’s going to be more mad.”

“You going to tell her soon?” I ask.

Tyler shrugs one shoulder. “Didn’t really get a chance before she stormed off into a hurricane. But yeah. I have to.”

Corwyn sips his tea. He’d dragged the Pine story out of me earlier, whistling with admiration or entertainment. “She’ll come around. If she doesn’t kill you first.”

“Comforting.”

“I am a nurturer,” Corwyn replies, deadpan.

We lapse into quiet again. Every sound from the living room makes us still. We each take turns checking on her—quiet, slow steps, just to see her breathing. She sleeps deeply now, bundled up, Misty curled into her side like a tiny sentinel.

We never talk about how we each linger a little longer than we should. There’s something sacred about her presence. Something we don’t want to shatter.

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