I listen until the same soft whir of the air system reaches my ears. No voices or movement. She is still asleep. Anya would tell me to leave her that way and let her rest. She is right. Sage needs every scrap of sleep she can get.
But there is a part of me that wants to open the door anyway. To sit on the edge of the bed and tell her what we found. To tell her that Hope was in that warehouse. That they gave her medication for her seizures. That she was moved but not discarded. That every piece of information brings us closer.
Close.That word again. Close is not enough. Close is not a girl back in her sister’s arms. It is not a future that does not end in a body on a slab or a name carved into stone.
My hand lifts, fingers hovering just short of the door. I picture the look that would move over her face when I speak the words. The way hope would flare, bright and fragile. The way it would shatter if the next call that came in was not that we had found Hope, but that we had lost the trail again.
I do not lie to the people I claim as mine. I also do not hand them knives and call it comfort.
“Soon,” I murmur under my breath, not sure if I am speaking to her or myself. “I will tell you when I can put something in your hands that does not feel like broken glass.”
Vega noses my knuckles, warm and insistent. I rest my palm briefly against the door. No knock, just contact. A silent acknowledgment that I am here, even if she does not know it. Then I turn away.
There are men to squeeze, routes to trace, and one Sokolov lieutenant who does not yet understand that his initials on a torn piece of paper signed his death warrant.
I walk back down the hall with Vega at my heel and let the promise settle in my bones. I will find Hope and pull her out of whatever cage they have put her in. And when I put her back in Sage’s arms, it will not be because I stumbled into it. It willbe because I tore this city apart piece by piece until there was nowhere left for Ray or his Sokolov friends to hide.
11
SAGE
Morning comes too quietly for this house. I open my eyes expecting to wake in my bed at home, expecting Hope’s soft humming through the wall or the faint scent of coffee drifting up the stairs. Instead, I’m surrounded by Luka’s world. Dark walls. Heavy curtains. Thick silence. Nothing feels familiar, yet everything feels too real, like I’ve stepped inside a dream I cannot climb out of or a nightmare I accidentally invited in.
My chest aches by the time I sit up. The guilt started as a whisper last night. Now it circles my ribs with claws.
I pull on jeans and one of Luka’s shirts, the soft cotton hanging too low on my thighs. I barely think about it. My feet move on their own, guiding me through hallways still dim with early light.
The courtyard air is cold enough to sting, but I welcome it. Vega lifts his head the moment I step outside. He’s curled near a trimmed hedge, his ears perked, his eyes tracking me the way he always has. When I sink onto the stone beside him, he rests his head on my knee.
“I never meant to hurt him,” I murmur into the fog. My fingers slide through Vega’s fur as if I expect him to understand every broken part of me. “I never meant to betray him. I only wanted Hope safe.”
The words tremble out of my mouth, raw and thin.
A faint scuff of shoes touches the ground behind me. I don’t turn right away. I can feel him before he speaks, his presence brushing along my spine like heat rolling through cold air.
Luka steps up beside me. His hand settles on my shoulder, his thumb tracing the line of my collar, the way someone might soothe a frightened animal. Instead of questioning where I’ve gone or why I slipped out alone, he slides his arm around my waist, raising me up until I’m standing with my back against his chest. Mist beads on his hair, clinging to the ends as he folds his arms around me.
“You are up early,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my temple. “Too early.”
“I couldn’t stay in the room.” My hands come together, fingers twisting. “I couldn’t breathe in there.”
His arms tighten, guiding my body closer until my spine fits the shape of him. “You should not wander the grounds without me.”
“I know,” I whisper, even though the words scrape through me.
He adjusts beside me and turns me toward him, his hands cradling my face as if he wants to shield me from every thought tearing me apart.
I search his eyes, needing answers. “Have you found anything? Any trail at all?”
His jaw works, the movement subtle but tense. He drags his palm once over Vega’s back, avoiding my eyes for a long beat, like he’s sifting through the right words. When he finally lifts his gaze to mine again, his expression is guarded.
“We found evidence at a warehouse.” His fingers drift up to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “She was there.”
My stomach drops so fast the courtyard tilts. “You’re sure?”
“The height. The build. The hair. The men moved equipment after she was taken. The footage matches her.” His voice roughens. “We were close.”
The world blurs before my eyes. I grip the front of his shirt, my knuckles pressing into him. “Where is she now?”
