Blay jumbled to a halt in front of the last patient room. The door was the same as all the others, made of the same wood that had been properly stained—no particleboard or laminated plastic for the Brotherhood, even in the clinical areas—the exact color as all the others.

He was never going to be able to look at the door the same again.

No one else would, either.

His hand was oddly steady as he opened things up. It was his entire body that was shaking.

The inside of the room . . . was exactly as it had always been. The hospital bed was across the way. In the corner, there was a homey stuffed chair and an ottoman, next to which was a side table with a lamp and a book. And that was . . . it.

No personal effects. No photographs. Not even a pad and a pen.

“Where is it, Luchas,” he murmured. “You must have left something for him. You didn’t do that without explaining yourself.”

Blay went over to the bed, which was made up precisely, with hospital corners Fritz would approve of and a set of pillows that were so centered at the headboard, you’d think a protractor and ruler had been used to put them in place.

“Where did you get the black robe?” Blay murmured. “And why did you wear it—”

He stopped.

Now his hand shook.

As he reached out to the rolling table, he didn’t pick up the white, business-sized envelope that had been placed in the corner of the tray. He just brushed his finger over the two words written in thin blue ink: “Brother Mine.”

Blay swiped his face with his palm. Then he looked around again.

When he refocused on the tray, he saw why Qhuinn would have missed the missive, especially if he’d been in a panic as he’d looked for his brother: The tray was white, the business envelope was white, and just like the pillows, the letter had been lined up precisely in one corner. It was nearly invisible.

“You okay?”

He pivoted to the voice. Manny Manello was leaning into the room, the doctor’s face full of grim expectation. Like he’d seen this specific kind of tragedy before and knew what a head job it did on people.

“Can you—” Blay cleared his throat. “You can make sure no one comes in here, right?”

“Sure, but what is—”

“The note.” Blay pointed to the envelope. “It’s for Qhuinn. I don’t want anyone touching it or anything else in here.”

Manny nodded. “Nobody gets in here but him.”

“Thank you.”

“What can I do?”

Blay looked around again. Then he went over to the bathroom. Pushing the door open, a light came on automatically. There was nothing significant on the counter.

No, that wasn’t true. There was a toothbrush in a holder that would never be used again, a half-filled tube of Colgate that would never be finished, and a bar of soap that would remain forever dry. Towels, which had been folded with care, were stacked on some shelves over the toilet and there were others hanging on rods—and they would all remain untouched by the suite’s previous occupant. The shower, which was just a curtain and a lip, the threshold for entry no more than two inches high, would no longer be turned on by Luchas’s hand, its stool never sat upon by him again, the shampoo and soap forever at the level they had been left.

Taking a deep breath, Blay caught the faded scents of cleanliness and habit.

Death was so strange. When it claimed its prey, there was a hard stop to the heart, the lungs, the body itself. But the artifacts of a person had a kind of kinetic motion that kept them going forward, at least for a little while. Clothes, shoes, medicines, bath products, subscriptions to things . . . all of that detritus of life was like loose objects in a car that had hit a brick wall, still banging around the interior.

Until they were dealt with, given away, put to use by someone else, thrown out, canceled.

Life should be more permanent than a tube of toothpaste with three inches left in its belly, he thought.

Blay rubbed the ache in the center of his chest. Then again, that was what the heart was for. The dead were immortal in the souls of those they left behind, and the payment for that permanence was pain.

As his phone went off with a text, he turned back to Manny. “Just make sure no one gets in here, okay? Please.”

Manny placed his right hand over his sternum. “You have my word.”

Qhuinn was sitting by the side of the tub when he heard the bedroom door open and close. The footfalls that came across the Persian carpet were soft, and there was a hesitation before Blay leaned inside the marble expanse.

The sight of that red hair and those blue eyes, of the clothes that Qhuinn had watched the male put on earlier in the night, of his mate’s expression of wary sadness, made a wave of emotion crest. But he fought the feelings back, stopping the weakness by recalling that when the dressing had occurred, when he had enjoyed the sight of his mate’s naked body in the walk-in closet . . . everything had been different.

The world had been totally altered.

Luchas had been dead for nearly twenty-four hours then frozen in the snow in that black robe. Just no one had known it yet.

Abruptly, Qhuinn had a chilling thought. How many other horrible truths were lurking around the corners of time, waiting to jump out into his path and ruin his sense that life was okay? Disease, an errant bullet in the field, someone else’s choices that cratered his own—

Lyric let out a string of babble, and Blay’s stare went over to her.

“It’s our bath night,” Qhuinn said roughly. “I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“I am so glad you texted me.”

Blay kicked off his loafers and came in on bare feet. Lowering himself down at the other end of the tub, he cupped some water and poured it over Rhamp’s shoulders.

“Have you done shampoo?” he asked.

Even as the question was posed, Qhuinn knew his mate was already well aware of the answer. Blay would have smelled the Aveeno if it had been used . . . but sometimes, when there was too much to say, words were hard to come by.

So you just tossed some out there because it was the best you could do.

“No, not yet.” Qhuinn nodded at the baby wash. “Do you want the bottle?”

“Sure.”

Qhuinn passed the thing over. “Where did your socks go?”

“What?” Blay looked at his feet. “Oh. Um . . . they’re around somewhere.”

“You never wear socks in the summer with those shoes. In the winter, you always do.”

“I was unaware of being so consistent.”

“It’s one of your best traits.” Qhuinn patted the water with his palm in front of Lyric, and in response, she mimicked him. “And not one of mine. I’m sorry I pushed you away. Down in the foyer.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”

“Yes, there is. I just . . . I wasn’t in my right mind.”

However, he had no regrets about lashing out at the angel. Every time he thought about Luchas’s choice unfairly locking the male out of the Fade, he felt that fury threaten to return.

“It’s okay,” Blay said as he flipped the baby blue top open. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now.”

“Neither can I.” Lyric grabbed his thumb and played at the surface of the tub with his hand. “Sorry, that makes no sense, does it. I mean . . . I’m not even sure where I am at the moment. That’s why it’s good to have bath time. I know bath time.”

The Aveeno made a whoopee cushion noise as Blay squeezed the bottle over Rhamp’s head, and the young laughed and reached for it.

“Close the top and let him have it,” Qhuinn said. “Let’s see what he does with the thing.”

Sure enough. Right in the mouth.

“Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Should have seen that coming.”

“I don’t think it can hurt him,” Blay hedged.

“Neither do I.”

Blay sat up on his knees and got with the washing program, sudsing up that dark cap of hair, rinsing things with the soft pitcher that was pink. Then it was time for the washcloth, Rhamp’s sturdy little body getting a vigorous scrubbing.

“She took them to see him,” Qhuinn murmured.

“Huh?” Blay doused the kid with more water, pouring it over Rhamp’s shoulders. “What was that?”

“Layla took them to Luchas.”

Blay paused. “She did . . . ?”

Qhuinn nodded. “Bless her. She’s a good female. Xcor is a lucky male.”

“He is.” Blay lowered the pitcher. “Did she say anything about . . . how he was?”

Blay’s heart pounded as he searched his mate’s face. In the back of his mind, he answered his own question in ways that only made him feel worse. Frankly, he was shocked that he was even here, surprised that Qhuinn had texted him and asked him to come up, grateful beyond measure that he was even in the same room with the male.

He’d expected to be totally shut out. That was how Qhuinn usually operated.

“No, she didn’t say how he seemed.” Qhuinn took a deep breath. “Other than, as usual, the young made him smile.”

Rhamp took the pitcher and played with it, slamming the water’s surface with the base. His sister found this incredibly entertaining and clapped for him, and as she grinned and flashed her four white teeth, Blay pictured her sitting at the end of Luchas’s hospital bed.

“I know I said it before, but I just . . . I wish I could have helped him.” Qhuinn shook his head. “I didn’t know he’d reached his limit with things. He seemed so fine—I mean, not fine, fine. But the same. And maybe that was the thing. He clearly didn’t feel like he was getting any better and he didn’t want to go on where he was. I really wish I—”

“He left you a note.”

Qhuinn’s head snapped around. “What?”

“In his room.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“The envelope is on the rolling tray, but it’s hard to notice.” Blay put up his palm. “And don’t worry, Manny’s making sure no one goes in there but you. So when you’re ready, go—and if it’s now, I’ll take care of these guys.”