Something twists in my chest, sudden and unfamiliar. It's not the dull ache of old wounds or the cold calculation I'm used to. This is different. It’s warmer and far more dangerous.
She whispers something to Hope, her voice cracking. I can't make out all of it, but I catch the end. “…can't lose you too.”
Her words pull at the memory of my mother's voice, soft but fierce in its final months, telling me to take care of my siblings. Promising she'd fight until she couldn't. She did fight. And when she was gone, a part of me froze and never thawed. The part that knew how to feel things beyond anger and control got buried with her, six feet under Russian soil, while my father watched with dry eyes and a clenched jaw.
When I stay silent, her mouth trembles. “She didn't deserve this.”
“No,” I answer, the words rough in my throat. “She didn't.”
Her jaw tightens, and she glares at me as if I've just confirmed the worst thing she already believes. “You know who did?You.”
Her words hit a nerve I didn’t know I still had. I inhale slowly to stop the reflexive anger from rising. My hands curl into fists at my sides, then relax. Control. Always control.
“Careful, Sage.”
“Careful?” Her laugh is soft and broken. “My café burned to the ground. My sister is unconscious. My life's gone. My freedom’s gone. You came into my world and ruined it. Tell me why I should becareful.”
“I didn't ruin it.”
She steps closer, her voice rising with each word. “You brought it down around me. You showed up with your secrets, your guns, and your cold little empire, and everything that mattered turned to ash. Everything I built, everything my mother left me is gone because you decided I was your problem to solve.”
“You think I wanted this?”
“I think you decided I was convenient,” she snaps, her tears flowing freely now. “Someone you could use and control. A pawn in whatever game you're playing with Ray Bellamy.”
The wordcontrolfinds its mark before I can deflect it. My grip on patience slips. “I've kept you alive,” I growl.
“And look where it got me!” she fires back, her voice breaking. “Here. Sitting in a hospital while my sister fights to survive because your world followed me home.”
She moves toward me, every step slow and certain. Her tears glisten in the dim light, but her expression is fierce. The combination of vulnerability and rage makes her dangerous in ways she doesn't understand. “You've destroyed everything I had left. My café. My freedom. My life.” Her voice fractures on the last word. “You'repoison.”
The word shatters whatever restraint I have left. Before I can stop myself, I move. Two strides and my hands are on her shoulders. Her body goes rigid beneath my touch, but she doesn't pull away. My voice is lower and rougher than I mean it to be. “You think you understand what poison is? You have no idea what I've kept from touching you.”
Her lips part in shock, her breath shallow, and her eyes glinting with fear and fury. For a moment, we're frozen there, close enough that I can feel the heat coming off her skin. “You're hurting me.”
I loosen my grip instantly, but don't let go. “No,” I murmur. “I'm showing you what happens when you stop seeing the difference between a man and the monsters outside his reach.”
“Then what areyou, Luka?” she whispers.
The answer dies somewhere in my throat. I don't know anymore. The lines blurred years ago, somewhere between the first time I pulled a trigger and the last time I looked in a mirror and recognized the reflection staring back.
I only know the pull toward her is stronger than my resolve. I lean in, and before I can stop myself, I kiss her. It's rough and messy. A clash of defiance and desperation. Her mouth tastes of honey and black tea, and every sleepless night she's ever endured. For one heartbeat, she resists, her body going still against mine, shocked into immobility. Then her hands fist in my shirt and she kisses me back. It's heat and ache and all the pain neither of us can name. Her nails dig through the fabric, and she makes a sound in her throat that's half sob, half surrender.
When she shoves me away, we're both breathing like we've run a mile. Her chest heaves, and her eyes are wild. “Don't,” she chokes out. “Don't ever do that again.”
Her words barely hold together, and mine won't come at all. The taste of her lingers on my lips, the sound of her ragged breathing echoing in the hushed room.
“You think that fixes anything?” she demands, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if she can erase what just happened.
“No,” I respond roughly. “But I don't regret it.”
“Of course you don't.” She stares at me, torn between hate and heartbreak. “You don't regret anything, do you? You just move through people like they're disposable. Like they’re figures on a board you never stop rearranging.”
I want to tell her she's wrong, that regret is all I've ever known. That control is just another name for grief, another way to keep the chaos at bay. That every decision I've made has been haunted by the ghosts of every other decision that came before it. But then a sound breaks through soft and small.
Hope.
Sage turns so fast her hair whips across her shoulder. “Hope?”
