I can't. Not with this. Not with Ray watching everything. Not when one wrong move could mean Hope dies and I never see her again. The knowledge drapes over my shoulders, dragging at my spine until holding myself straight takes real effort.
“I need to breathe.” The words come out strangled. My lungs refuse to expand fully, each inhale stopping halfway before releasing. “I need a minute.”
He watches me with an intensity that pulls the room tighter around us, the space shrinking until it feels like the walls might close in completely. But he lets me walk past him, stepping aside just enough that I don't have to squeeze by. His heat radiates toward me even from this small distance, warming the air between our bodies.
I step into the bathroom and close the door, pressing my back against it until my knees nearly buckle from the rush of panic clawing through my chest. The wood is solid against my spine,its coolness helping me find my balance. My hands fumble for my phone on the counter, my fingers slipping before I finally get a grip. The device feels too heavy in my palm, weighed down by all the terrible choices I’m being forced to make.
I grip it so tightly my fingers hurt. My reflection in the mirror looks pale and frantic, like a version of myself stuck between choices that only lead to more pain. Dark circles shadow my eyes, making them look sunken. My lips are pressed into a thin, colorless line.
I exhale shakily. My breath fogs the mirror slightly before dissipating. I open the message thread with the blocked number, my thumb hovering over the keyboard for a long moment before I start typing. Each letter feels like a commitment, another step down a path I can't reverse.
I did what you asked. The files are on the way. I need proof she's alive before Luka forces me to Seattle. I won't get another chance to do this if you don't tell me what comes next.
My thumb hovers over the send button while my pulse hammers in my throat. I can hear my own breathing, harsh and uneven, echoing off the bathroom tiles. I add one more line, my fingers shaking so badly I have to correct several typos before the message is legible.
Please. Just tell me where she is.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself again. The message slides upward on the screen, the blue bubble appearing beneath all our previous exchanges. The reply arrives before I can inhale again, the notification banner dropping down from the top of my screen with a soft chime.
Hope doesn't need your panic. She needs your obedience.
My breath leaves me in a broken rush, punching out of my lungs like I've been hit. The room tilts and my vision blurs, darkening around the periphery. My knees soften so fast I nearly slide down the cabinet, my legs refusing to support my weight. I catch myself on the counter, both hands braced against the surface to keep from collapsing completely.
Another message drops in before I can process the first one, the phone vibrating in my hand.
Seattle doesn't change your situation. It changes your leverage. Do what I tell you when I tell you… and she keeps breathing.
My vision goes watery, tears finally spilling over despite my attempt to hold them back. They slide down my cheeks in hot tracks, dripping off my jaw onto the counter below. I can taste salt on my lips, bitter and unwelcome.
Then the final message appears below the others, accompanied by another soft vibration.
Don't test me again.
My legs give out for a second, the muscles simply refusing to function. I brace one hand on the sink, fingers splayed wide for maximum support, while my skin turns cold and my fingers go numb. A tremor runs through me so violently that the phone slides from my fingers and clatters against the sink basin, the sound echoing off the tiles. The device bounces once before settling, the screen still glowing with Ray's messages.
Leaving Aspen Ridge doesn't mean safety. It means slipping deeper into Ray's grip, sinking further into the quicksand he's built around me. It means losing the last illusion of control I still had. And Luka has no idea that every choice he's making is feeding into the trap I'm already caught in.
A knock sounds on the bathroom door, three firm raps that make me jump. “Sage,” Luka calls quietly, his voice muffled by the wood. “Open the door.”
I swipe at my cheeks with the back of my hand even though I'm not crying anymore, not exactly. The tears have stopped, but the tracks remain, sticky against my skin. My eyes burn and my throat aches, swollen and sore from holding back sobs.
“One second,” I answer, forcing the words out. My voice strains on the last syllable, cracking slightly despite my efforts. I grab the phone and shove it into the pocket of my leggings, the device pressing against my hip.
I turn the handle and pull the door open, the hinges creaking softly. Luka stands there filling the doorway, broad shoulders blocking out the light behind him. His presence dominates the space, making everything else seem smaller by comparison. His gaze runs across my face instantly, taking in things I don't want him to see.
His voice gentles just enough to cut through me, softening in a way I’m not prepared for. “You look pale.”
“I'm fine.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I force it out anyway because what else can I say? “I just needed a moment.”
He studies me with slow intensity, his eyes moving across my face like he's memorizing every feature. “If you're afraid of Seattle, tell me what part exactly worries you.”
I shrug lightly, trying to make my body language casual even though my pulse still races beneath my skin. My heart hammers against my ribs, the rhythm chaotic and uneven. “It's not Seattle. It's leaving everything behind again. The café. Hope's things. My life. Everything keeps changing so fast.”
The words aren't entirely false. I am terrified of leaving, just not for the reasons he thinks.
He steps closer, his hand lifting as if he wants to touch me but letting it hover for a moment. Finally, he closes the distance, his palm warm against my waist. “You are not alone in this.”
The heat from his hand seeps through my sweater, spreading across my side. I can feel each finger distinctly, the pressure gentle and reassuring. I nod because I don't trust my voice to remain steady if I speak.
