Page 59 of Trapped Truth

“Look at it! I wanna build a snowman. Or make snow angels!”

“How old are you?” Hyland is stonier-faced than usual.

He’s been sullen since Jayce denied his request to have his son for the holidays. She’s freaked by recent events. I believe Hyland kept details sparse, but it was enough for her to slap him with the rulebook and withhold access to Luke again.

“Cheer up, buttercup.” Axel puckers up to blow him a kiss. “It’s Christmas!”

“Who cares?”

“You’re such an old grinch.”

“Keep going, and I’ll ram an icicle up your asshole, pup. See how festive you feel then.”

“That’s hot.” Axel dramatically clamps down on his bottom lip. “I’d prefer a bit more foreplay, though, big guy. You gotta warm me up to it.”

“Jesus, Ax. Shut the fuck up for once.”

“Nah. You’d miss my vibrant conversation too much.”

Seated on my other side, Blaine quietly listens to their antics. I woke up to a bouquet of poinsettias at the foot of my bed this morning, containing a note from him. How he found a florist open on Christmas morning, I’m not sure. But it made me tear up.

“Did you celebrate much growing up?” I nudge our shoulders together.

He sighs through his nose. “Not exactly.”

“What about after you escaped prison?”

“Nah, I mostly leave my people to their own devices. A lot of them still have families out there. I don’t mind spending the day alone to let them have time off.”

“No one should spend Christmas alone.” I wince at the thought.

“What did you do for the last six years?” Blaine scoffs.

“Touché, but that wasn’t by choice. I mostly thought about home and what I was missing back here. It was even harder to forget the life I lost during the holidays.”

The car lapses into silence. I dare not look at Warner, watching me in the rearview mirror. I hope he looked after Tom during the milestones I missed. I’m sure he wouldn’t have let him celebrate holidays or birthdays alone.

“Now you get to spend Christmas with Britain’s most notorious family instead of alone.” Axel breaks the tension with a well-timed joke.

“Pretty sure their reputation is global by now,” Hyland adds.

“That’s probably fair. They’re all fucking crazy.”

“Hey, it was nice of them to invite us,” I scold them both. “Hudson and Kade didn’t have to do that.”

“We’ve spent a few holidays with them.” Warner focuses on the snow-laden road ahead. “Sometimes Ripley and the others made an appearance too.”

“They all know each other?”

“It’s a small world.” Warner hitches up a shoulder. “Their cases followed a similar trajectory. After Blackwood was overthrown, Harrowdean Manor didn’t last long. It gives them a kind of kinship, I suppose.”

“Our former directors too.” Hyland twists to peer into the backseat. “One big, fucked-up Sabre family. Maybe you’ll meet Harlow and the guys when they visit from Australia sometime.”

“I’d like that.”

We leave the capital in the back window, cruising past huge countryside homes. Most Londoners follow the same pattern; swapping the filthy city streets for tree-lined cul-de-sacs, settling down within commuting distance.

The survivors of Blackwood Institute are no different. Hudson and Kade’s forever home with their family is nestled in the outskirts of the capital, far from prying eyes and hopefully, any threats attracted by their profession.