"Dominic ... " Darell bit his lip, then let out a long, heavy sigh. No one had found rest that night. They stayed gathered in the hallway outside the hospital room, waiting for Blair's eyes to finally open. Their mother, the woman who had once been the anchor of their lives, now lay inside, her body frail and broken. How could anyone close their eyes in peace when her life teetered on the edge? Sleep felt useless. "Darell, do you believe in karma?" Dominic's voice cracked through the silence like glass breaking. "I ... " Darell's throat tightened. Words almost escaped him but fell back before they reached his lips. He understood exactly why Dominic had asked.They had grown up as children of reason, raised to believe only in what science could prove. Evidence was truth, logic was law, and superstition was nothing but fantasy. But that had been before. Since the night of the dream about Tilda's death, since the encounter with Silva, Darell could no longer insist that retribution was only a myth. Dominic's torment came from the same shadow. Tilda lingered in his heart, heavy with guilt and regret that no time could wash away. In the pale glow of the corridor lights, Darell studied Dominic's face. The sight made his chest ache. Once, Dominic had been strong and radiant, the bright heir of Jenson Group, admired by all. Now he looked hollow, weighed down by grief, his spirit dimmed, as though age had stolen ten years in the span of months. "If karma is real, then this must be ours," Dominic whispered. "This is what we deserve. We wronged Tilda. We failed her. That is why this has come upon us."Every ounce of pain is the punishment for what we did. If I could take it all upon myself, I would." The words carried regret so raw it bled into the air. He thought of his choices. He regretted letting Queen's charm blind him. He regretted sending the email that drew Queen's attention and chained him as her student. He regretted returning home like a demon, lashing out at Tilda with cruelty, all to shield a sister who had never been real. The memories tore through him, each one sharper than the last. Yet he was helpless to defend against them. Why had he been so blind? Why had he believed himself so clever, so powerful, so in control? He believed he'd seen the truth. In the end, he had lost the one person who had deserved his loyalty most.Kyla had lived eighteen years by his side, and he had never seen her mask. Not until Russell revealed the truth. He had even planned gifts for her, pouring his energy and love into a sister who was never truly his. He had told himself he could not lose her after losing Tilda. Now he saw the truth. It was laughable. And it was tragic. "Dominic, stop," Darell said, his voice low, though his tone held a quiet urgency. "I know your chest is tight, but this isn't the time." His gaze drifted to their brothers huddled by Blair's bedside, and to Russell, whose face looked carved from pain. "Thank you, Darell," Dominic murmured. "Having you here, listening to me, it lightens the weight. I can't say these words to the others. Every one of them is tied to Tilda. Every one of them carries guilt."Only you ... you hardly knew her, and so you're the one person I can speak to without fear." Darell stayed silent. Unbidden, his thoughts returned to the dreams that haunted him. Hardly knew her, huh? No ties? It was true that he had never wronged Tilda. Without the bond of blood, he and she might as well have been strangers, passing each other without a word. Yet whenever he saw his family brought to its knees, dread clawed at him. It felt like the charm Silva had given him was fading. It felt like the dream was returning to claim him again. That feeling was coming back. That feeling had never lied before. And in that moment, he knew his connection to Tilda ran far deeper than anyone imagined. "Tell me, Darell," Dominic asked softly."What do you think Tilda is doing now? While we spend the holidayslocked in grief inside this hospital, what do you think she's doing?" "Enough, Dominic," Darell cut him off, his tone sharpening. "The more you speak of her, the deeper you sink into this sorrow. Stop torturing yourself. Stop thinking about Tilda." He was speaking to Dominic, but the words rang inside his own chest as well. "The night stretches on," Dominic whispered, his voice shaking. "The longer I carry this guilt, the more I remember the joy we lost. I can't stop, Darell. I can't stop thinking of her. She must be sitting with her friends, watching the holiday's show, laughing, trading gifts, sending out blessings for the year ahead. Not like us. "This family has already changed. And maybe ... maybe it will never return to what it once was."