You find Sam sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world is pressing down on him. His hands are clasped tightly together, knuckles white, like he’s trying to hold himself together. The room feels tense, thick with the kind of silence that only comes from unsaid apologies and mistakes that can’t be undone. You step closer, but his eyes stay fixed on the floor, unable to meet yours. You can almost see the moment replaying in his mind—the flash of Lilith’s blood, the crackle of her death, the realization that he’d broken the final seal. That he’d started it all.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers, voice hoarse, like it’s splintered under the weight of the guilt. “Not after what I did—killing her and letting him out.”