Lucien rubbed a towel over his damp hair, rolling his neck as he glanced toward Noah, who was buttoning his black silk shirt with slow, lazy fingers.
"You look like you didn't just spend a week wrecking half the room," Lucien muttered with a small smirk.
Noah chuckled and shook his head. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck, but I'd do it again." He leaned against the wall, tugging on his sleeves. "All of them… I didn't know it was possible to feel this full."
Lucien's gaze softened as he pulled on his own shirt. "Yeah. Me either."
They left the room quietly, stepping into the golden afternoon light pouring through the Vincent mansion's hallways. Downstairs, the scent of food drifted up—roasted meats, honey bread, and wine.
By the time they reached the dining hall, Max and Silas were already seated. Max looked up first and raised an eyebrow. "You two look like you survived a war."
"We did," Lucien replied dryly as he pulled out a chair.Silas leaned on the table. "Where's Sam?"
"Asleep," Noah said, taking the seat beside Max. "Peacefully."
Miller—Lucien's father—glanced up from the head of the table. "And how is he really?"
Silas hesitated, then gave a soft nod. "He's resting. That's what matters."
But even as the words left his mouth, a tension laced them.
Miller studied him.
Then from the corner of the room, a soft voice cut through the space like silk.
"Don't talk to Papa like that."
They all turned.
Sam stood in the doorway, still pale, but dressed neatly in one of Max's loose white shirts and soft pants. His hair was damp. His lips were slightly pink.
He looked like the ghost of someone holy.
Silas stood immediately. "Sam—"
Sam's eyes locked on his. "Apologize."
Silas stared for a second, then bowed his head.
"I'm sorry. I spoke from frustration, not truth."
Sam nodded once, walked toward the table, and took the empty seat between Noah and Lucien. Noah leaned over and kissed his cheek softly.
"You're late," Noah teased.
Sam blushed faintly, whispering, "Had to make sure I didn't look like I'd been crying for days."
"You always look beautiful," Lucien said quietly.
Sam smiled at them both, then turned to the elders.
"To be clear," he said calmly, "Papa Leo did nothing wrong. He loved me the only way he knew how—and he protected me. So whatever blame you're trying to throw, redirect it elsewhere."
The room went quiet.
And then James and Oliver entered.
The second he saw Sam, Oliver nearly ran.
"Sam!" he cried, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "Are you okay? I was so worried, I—"
Sam covered his mouth gently, whispering, "I'm okay. Truly. Come on—let's eat."