Something is wrong. Sage has not looked me in the eye properly since we boarded the plane. She keeps reaching for her phone as if it might vanish, then stops herself, as if she fears being caught. She did not argue with me in the car, challenge me at the door, or throw words like knives the way she usually does when she feels cornered. The fire that carried her through Aspen Ridge has not gone out, but it has gone somewhere I cannot see.
Is she regretting every touch we shared in the cabin? Is she afraid that allowing herself to lean on me, even for a heartbeat, makes her weak? Or does she simply not trust me enough to fall apart in front of me?
The doubts sit like stones in my chest. I do not like that my mind circles questions about her while I should be thinking solely about the Sokolovs and finding Hope. There are lies between us.I close my eyes and inhale slowly, letting the smell of the house fill my lungs. If I were a smarter man, I would remove her from this equation entirely. Send her to a safehouse, hand her a new name and a new life, and erase my number from her phone before my enemies realize what she has become to me.
“Whatever is coming,” I murmur into the empty hall, my eyes on the thin line of light under her door, “it is already here.”
9
SAGE
Light presses against my eyelids, thin and gray, before I force them open. For a second, I forget where I am. The ceiling above me is high and smooth, not the low, wood-paneled one from the cabin. The sheets are cool and heavy, not the thrift-store cotton from my little yellow house. The air smells faintly like the ocean and something clean and expensive that doesn’t belong to anything in my world.
Seattle.It settles in slowly. The flight. The rain. The mansion that feels more like a fortress. Luka walking me to this room and telling me to sleep. I blink toward the sliding glass doors. Beyond them, the water stretches out under a low blanket of clouds, rippled silver and dark blue. The clock on the bedside table reads a little after eight.
My stomach rolls before I even sit up. I blame jet lag and the way my nerves never really came down last night. I swallow against the sour taste at the back of my throat and shove the covers away.
My hand reaches automatically toward the other side of the bed, but it’s empty. My fingers drag over the cold sheets. No warmfur or weight pressed against my leg. A tiny pinch of panic bites through the sleep fog, sharp enough that I sit up too fast and the room swims.
“Vega?” My voice sounds rough in the quiet.
No answering thud of paws on the floor. No dog nose pushing against my hand.
Of course, he’s not here. Luka probably called for him. It still hits wrong to wake up without him curled against my calves, the warm constant that has been at my side more nights than most people. I rub my palm over my face and try to shake it off. Vega is fine. He belongs to Luka, not to me, no matter how much the dog disagrees.
The clothes Luka had delivered hang in the wardrobe. There are neat rows of soft sweaters, jeans, and slacks in my size, with tags I recognize only from other people’s closets. I pull on dark jeans and a cream sweater, grateful that at least he remembered I hate anything too tight around my ribs. My body feels weirdly floaty, like I had one too many drinks even though I haven’t touched alcohol in weeks.
In the bathroom, I splash cool water on my face until my skin tingles. My reflection looks pale and puffy around the eyes, with a faint greenish tinge that doesn’t help my confidence. I pat my cheeks with a soft towel to bring some color back.
There’s a knock somewhere in the distance, a door opening and closing, voices low and muffled through layers of walls. The house is awake.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and glance at the screen, more habit than hope. No new messages. No unknown numbers holding my entire world in a few words. The last thread with Raysits near the top. His last message still glows in my memory even with the screen dark.
Seattle doesn’t change your situation. It changes your leverage.
I shove the phone into my pocket before my brain can spiral. If I think about him first thing in the morning, I’ll drown before I even reach the door.
The hallway outside my suite is quiet and wide, the carpet soft under my feet. A camera in the corner watches in blank silence. I fold my arms across my middle, pressing my elbows into my sides, and walk toward the faint smell of coffee. My stomach rolls again when the scent of food grows stronger. Eggs, maybe, and something buttery. Usually, those smells comfort me. Right now, they make the back of my throat tighten.
A maid passes at the far end of the hall carrying a stack of folded linens, her eyes dropping respectfully as she moves by. Her presence reminds me that this is Luka’s world, where people glide in and out doing quiet jobs while men like him make decisions that knock down everything in their path.
Voices drift from an open doorway to my left. One of them belongs to Luka. Deep and calm in that way that still unnerves me because even when he sounds relaxed, I know he is evaluating everything. I pause at the threshold and smooth a hand down the front of my sweater, trying to calm my breathing. My palms feel damp as my heart crawls up into my throat.
You are not walking into a firing squad, I tell myself.You are walking into breakfast.
The room is large without feeling cavernous, sunlight easing in through tall windows that look out over the water. A long table sits in the center, the dark wood polished to a soft shine,with white china, linen napkins, and silver laid out neatly. A sideboard against the wall holds covered dishes, steam curling from the seams. Four people are sitting at the table.
Anya spots me first. She brightens in a way that relaxes my shoulders a notch. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, and she’s wearing a soft gray dress instead of the severe black Luka favors.
“There you are,” she calls, pushing back from the table slightly. “Good morning, Sage.”
Nikolay sits beside her, his sleeves rolled, and his tie loosened. He looks like he’s already put in a few hours of work. His green eyes land on me with that same assessing focus as last night, though this time it feels a little less like a spotlight and a little more like a habit he can’t shut off.
On the other side of the table, Luka rises partway from his chair. The movement draws my attention. He’s wearing a white shirt open at the throat with dark trousers and no jacket. Vega rests at his heel, his ears pricking the second I appear.
Relief passes through me so fast my knees almost give out. I crouch automatically as Vega trots over, his nails clicking softly against the floor. He presses his head under my hand with a soft groan, like he’s been waiting for this as much as I have. My fingers sink into his fur, thick and soft, and some of the tension in my chest loosens.
“Good morning.” Luka’s voice wraps around the space between us, low but not cold.
