He turns toward me, his weapon lifted. “What did you?—”
“Hallway,” I cut in, stepping into motion. “Now.”
The alarms wail louder, echoing through sterile corridors, and every instinct I own tells me the real emergency has just begun.
19
SAGE
15 MINUTES EARLIER
Hope sits on the edge of the bed in the private recovery room, sunlight wrapping across her lap like a warm sash. The second she sees me, her face changes completely, relief, disbelief, and joy all rushing through her like color returning to a faded photograph.
“Sage.”
I cross the room before my name finishes leaving her mouth. The distance between us disappears in three strides. Her hands are cool when I take them, thin and trembling under my palms. The faint quiver in her tendons tells me what her words will try to hide.
“I’m okay,” she insists, forcing steadiness into her voice. “I promise, I’m okay.”
I cup her face and press my forehead against hers, closing my eyes for one heartbeat. “You scared me,” I murmur. “You always do.”
She laughs softly, the sound fragile but alive. When she pulls back, there’s a spark of mischief that’s all her. “You lookdifferent. Happier,” she says, studying me. Her gaze slides toward the doorway where Luka stands speaking with Albert, his voice low. “Is that because of him?”
Heat climbs up my neck. I draw in a slow breath and will my pulse to calm. “It’s because you’re safe,” I tell her, hoping the words hide the truth simmering beneath them.
“You're coming with us,” I whisper. “We’ll stay at Luka’s cabin.”
Her brows pull together. “What about home?”
“There is no home,” I admit quietly. The words scrape my throat raw. “Not right now.”
For a moment, the air stills. Hope’s eyes search mine, trying to read everything I’m not saying. I see her lips part with a question, but she closes them again.
Behind me, Luka’s voice rumbles, a few short words to Albert about transport, signatures, and security protocol. He doesn’t raise his tone, but it carries authority even over the machines and muted hallway noise. Hope leans lightly on my arm, her shoulder fitting into the curve of mine like it always did when she was little and afraid of storms.
I glance toward Luka. He’s watching the doorway, scanning for threats even here, in a place meant for healing. When our eyes meet, his expression softens for a fraction of a second. A silent nod. A promise that he’s in control.
The men step out without another word, the door shutting softly behind them, and the silence folds in around Hope and me.
“Jenny called me about the café,” Hope whispers, as if speaking it too loudly will make it real again. “She was crying so hard Icould barely understand her. I remember the siren on the call. I remember my heart kicking. Then nothing.”
The image sinks in, and I fight to keep my face calm. “The fire department put it out fast. They’re still investigating.”
Her eyes search mine. “Is it bad?”
“Bad enough,” I admit. A truth wrapped inside gentleness, because she deserves both. “But we’ll rebuild. The insurance will help.”
“Insurance never covers what matters.” She tries to smile. “You taught me that.”
“I did.” I draw her hands closer. “We’ll make it work. We always do.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
A knock lands softly on the door. Albert steps in halfway, a wall in a suit, shoulders filling the frame. “We are on schedule,” he announces, his voice low. “Discharge in ten.”
“Thank you,” I reply before he turns and leaves, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
