1
SAGE
The picture on my phone glows like a wound I can't stop touching. Hope's face fills the screen, pale under the dim light of a single bulb. Her wrists are bound with duct tape, her mouth sealed, her head slumped to one side like she's trying to sleep through a nightmare.
She's wearing the same sweater she had on the last time I saw her, cream-colored, with a loose thread near the cuff. I trace that thread with my fingertip until my hand starts to shake. The wool looks soft even through the digital image, and I remember buying it for her last Christmas. She complained it was too plain, that she wanted something with sequins or embroidery, but she wore it anyway because I chose it. The memory rushes back, fierce and unwelcome.
It's absurd, the things the mind clings to when everything else has been torn away. Not her bound wrists or the terror that must be coursing through her veins, but a loose thread. A detail so small it shouldn't matter, yet it's the only thing keeping me tethered to reality right now.
The air in the cabin is cold, thin with the bite of late fall. Outside the window, the world is painted in silver and gold, frosted pines under a sky so clean it looks like it could crack. Morning light spills across the ridge in sheets of crystalline brightness, the sun climbing slowly over the mountains. Luka’s cabin rests against the hillside, carved straight from the mountain, dark wood and stone made to endure, a quiet refuge where people go to disappear. And right now, I might need to.
Ray’s voice still threads through my head, every syllable slick with satisfaction.If you ever want to see your sister alive again, you'll do exactly what I tell you.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. His calm was more terrifying than a screamed threat, and more dangerous than any weapon he could wield. That control, and the certainty in his tone, tells me he's thought this through. He knows exactly what he's doing and how to break me.
He wants me to steal from Luka. Information. Files. Financial records, all of them. Contact lists, backups, shipment routes for the next sixty days. Whatever he's after, it's big enough to make him crawl out from the hole he's been hiding in. Big enough to risk Luka's wrath, which is something few people would dare.
I press the heel of my hand against my eyes, pushing back the headache that's been building since dawn. My ribs ache with the movement, a sharp reminder of what it took to survive these past weeks. The fire that devoured Bean & Bloom, my mother’s legacy, turned to ash. The chase through the Denver woods, trying to save Hope. The bullet that came too close, and the SUV that threw me into the air, nearly finished what they started.
And then Luka. God, Luka.
The image of him flashes through my mind unbidden. Broad shoulders that fill doorways, the quiet strength in his movements, and the way a room settles the moment he steps inside. He makes the air thicken when he’s near, the space around him charged with electricity. Not because of fear, though there's plenty of that to go around. But because you feel him everywhere. In your lungs, your pulse, and the space between your thoughts.
I've seen what that power looks like in the dark, when he moves through shadows like he was born to them. And I've seen what it looks like when he kneels beside a bed to check if you're breathing, his fingers gentle on your wrist, counting heartbeats like they're precious.
I drop the phone onto the mattress, face down, as if that can erase everything. The sound breaks the stillness of the cabin, a muted thud against sheets that don’t belong to me.
The faint smell of coffee lingers from the kitchen downstairs, bitter and comforting at once. It mingles with the scent of wood smoke from last night's fire, and the tang of pine seeping through the windows. I hear the soft rumble of the heater kicking on, the metallic creak of pipes expanding with heat. Somewhere near the hearth, Vega shifts and releases a low, tired groan. His breathing is steadier now, rhythmic and deep. He's healing, too.
The memory floods back, stealing my breath. Vega lunging in front of me, his body a blur of black and tan fur. The gunfire. The way he went down with a sound I'll never forget, a yelp that cut through the chaos and lodged itself in my chest. His body between mine and the bullet that was meant to end me. Blood matting his fur, his eyes closing as I begged him to stay with me.
I swallow hard, blinking against the sting that rises behind my eyes. My throat tightens, and I force myself to breathe through my nose, slow and steady. I can't fall apart. Not now. Not when Hope needs me.
I slide my fingers under the pillow, checking the phone's position again, instinctively hiding it even though I'm alone. The phone feels cool against my palm. Ray said he’d contact me in five days. He said I’ll have what I need when he decides I’m ready, but every part of me rebels at the thought of betraying Luka. I can’t risk Luka finding out. I can’t risk him seeing this phone, reading these messages, and realizing what has been asked of me because he'll stop me. And if he stops me, Hope dies.
A floorboard creaks beyond the bedroom door. My pulse spikes, racing in my throat. Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out the soft sounds of the cabin settling. I shove the phone deeper under the pillow just as Luka steps inside, my movements jerky and too fast. The pillowcase shifts under my hand, and I pray he doesn't notice.
The morning light hits him from behind, turning the air around him pale gold. He's holding a tray, steam rising from a mug, toast arranged on a plate beside scrambled eggs. He looks too human for the man I know he can be. Too gentle.
“You are awake,” he murmurs. His voice always feels low enough to hum in my bones, settle somewhere deep in my chest, and vibrate there.
“Barely,” I manage, pushing myself up against the headboard. My ribs protest, a dull throb that spreads across my side. I grit my teeth and force a smile I don't feel. “The bed's too soft.”
He arches a brow as he sets the tray down beside me, careful not to spill the coffee. The mug is simple, white ceramic, and the coffee inside looks dark and strong, just the way I like it. “You are complaining about comfort now?”
“I'm just saying it's hard to rest when everything feels too calm.” My voice comes out stronger than I expected, and I'm grateful for that small mercy.
His mouth tilts in what might almost be a smile, though there's a restraint behind it, a shadow I can't quite read. “Calm is not permanent. Enjoy it while you can.”
He sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, springs creaking softly, and the scent of cedar and smoke fills my lungs. My heartbeat goes wild for a moment, too fast and alive for how broken I'm supposed to feel.
“You should eat,” he murmurs, sliding the tray closer. His fingers brush the edge of the plate, adjusting it so the fork is within easy reach. “You are pale.”
“You're bossy.”
“And you are stubborn.” His tone softens just enough to make it sound warm and real, a tenderness I don’t deserve.
For a moment, everything feels suspended, the space between us fine as glass, one breath away from breaking. The cabin is silent except for the crackling fire downstairs and the soft wheeze of Vega's breathing.
