Winn finally gave up. His search had stretched into late night. He hated giving up—especially when it came to Sylvia—but exhaustion gnawed at him, and he wasn’t thinking straight anymore.
He would put a call through to his detective acquaintance in the morning, someone discreet enough to track down his wayward sister without making headlines. Right now, his body demanded rest.
He had already spent half the previous night at Commissioned. Sleep had been a stranger ever since.
As soon as Winn pulled into the wide stone driveway of his Tribeca estate, one of his security guards approached. "Sir... your sister is in the house."
"What the fuck?!" Winn’s reaction was instant, a violent cocktail of shock, anger, and—underneath it all—trepidation. His stomach dropped. His mind flashed instantly to the one thing he should’ve locked down tighter than the Pentagon—his bar.
He stormed inside. The living room’s sprawling sectional dominated the space, and there she was curled on the sofa. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, lips parted, mascara smeared across cheeks that still somehow carried the faint traces of Kane elegance.
She looked young again in sleep, almost innocent. That sight—her vulnerability—softened him for all of two seconds before the memory of her rehab escape twisted the knife again.
Still, instinct had him detour straight to the bar. He yanked open cabinet doors, scanned bottles. Everything lined up in perfect rows, labels gleaming. His pulse slowed—slightly. He wasn’t breathing fire anymore, just hot coals.
The kitchen was next. Winn strode across the house’s open-concept space, throwing the fridge open. Cans of beer glared back at him from the cool glow. He tried to remember how many had been there before. He couldn’t. But there were still enough.
Enough for him to exhale. Relief trickled in, bitter but real. Maybe she hadn’t—
The fridge door swung shut with a quiet thunk. Standing there, arms crossed beneath her chest, was Sylvia. Wide awake now. Her eyes were bloodshot but sharp, an accusing gleam beneath the tousled halo of blonde.
"Don’t trust me with your alcohol, uhn?"
"You haven’t given me any reason to," Winn snapped. "What the fuck do you think you’re doing disappearing from the rehab centre?"
"Winn, I couldn’t stay there one more minute!"
"I don’t give a shit what you couldn’t do." Winn’s palm slapped against the counter. "All you have to do is stay there and stay sober. That’s it! Do you have any idea how worried mother is?" His breath came faster, fury and exhaustion tangling until his voice broke on the edges.
"I’ve spent the past three hours searching every bar in Tribeca for you. Do you have any idea what it feels like to walk into a room, praying you won’t find your little sister half-dead over a glass of bourbon?"
Sylvia’s eyes glistened, guilt fighting its way to the surface. "I’m sorry. I needed to get out of there. It was too depressing for me," she whispered. The way she said it almost disarmed him.
"You mean they had no alcohol to spice things up for you." His retort was cruel and he hated himself for the way her face crumpled. He turned on his heel, storming out of the kitchen.
"Winn, please, listen to me!"
He spun around, fury searing through his chest. "I am taking you back."
"I’m not going back," she shot back. For once, she didn’t look like the trembling girl he was forever rescuing. For once, she stood her ground.
"Oh yes you are, little lady!" Winn’s arm snapped out, finger wagging in her face. His eyes blazed, torn between brotherly love and the crushing weight of responsibility.
"Winn, listen to me. Please. I will do anything, whatever you tell me to do, I will...please don’t take me back."
Winn’s shoulders sagged, the fight bleeding out of him. For a second, he looked every bit his age—tired lines carved deeper into his face, exhaustion dragging his posture low. "I promised Mum I would find you and take you back."
"You didn’t find me." Sylvia’s chin lifted stubbornly. "I came here all by myself. I know I need help, but I will not get it there, Winn. I am going crazy."
"Syl..." His throat tightened. He wanted to yell, to scare her back into obedience, but the way she looked at him stole the anger right out of him.
"I will stay here with you," she rushed on, sensing the crack in his resolve. "Lock me up, assign me a guard, I don’t care."
Winn pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"You will go to meetings," Winn began.
"Definitely." Sylvia nodded so fast it almost looked comical.
"You cannot go anywhere without a companion, which I will assign to you." He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing.
"Wouldn’t expect anything less."
"You get no guests without talking to me first."
"I ran out of friends a long time ago anyway." Original content can be found at novelꜰire.net
"And...You will stop giving Mother grief. Pick up the phone right now and call her to tell her you are safe." He slid his own phone across the counter toward her.
"Thank you, Winn, but I will call her tomorrow. I cannot deal with her tonight, please."
"Don’t thank me yet. One slip up, one mistake, one drop of alcohol and I will haul your ass back to rehab and make sure they keep you locked up for the rest of your life."
"Yes sir!" Sylvia tried to lighten the tension with a salute, her lips tugging into a mischievous smile, but Winn wasn’t having it. His glare could have frozen molten steel.
"What am I supposed to do with all the alcohol in the house?" He gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, frustration practically radiating from him.
"Give them to someone who deserves it?" she teased weakly, but the attempt fell flat. Her eyes darted away, shame flickering beneath the surface.
Winn took a deep breath, fingers digging into his temples. "Great... just great." Only one person came to mind, and she lived in Long Island. He looked at the time—already past ten. If he wanted to keep his sister safe and his sanity intact, there was no time to waste.
(Incredibly grateful for all the power stones)