My voice comes out low, each word intentional. “Do not pretend this is nothing. Jenny went to the cabin. She left with a padded envelope you gave her. She mailed it twenty minutes later.” I take a step closer. “What did you send?”
Her chest moves too fast, her breathing shallow and uneven. Her eyes dart toward the nightstand, toward her phone lying face down. The movement is quick, almost imperceptible, but I see it. I always see it.
I drag in a breath, trying not to let my anger spill over into something she will misinterpret. Anger won't get me the truth. Pressure will. But there's a difference between applying pressure and crushing someone beneath it. I've learned that difference over the years, though sometimes I forget which side of the line I'm standing on.
“Sage,” I urge, my tone softening by a fraction. “Look at me.”
She lifts her eyes. Fear and guilt swirl in them, mixing together until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. Her lipspart as if she wants to speak, but no words come out. She swallows hard, her throat working visibly.
“Tell me,” I push, keeping my voice low. “I need the truth.”
She folds one hand over her stomach, not even aware she's doing it. The gesture is protective and instinctive. Her voice trembles when she finally speaks. “I wanted to tell you.”
“Then tell me now.”
She inhales shakily, both hands gripping the blanket like she needs something to anchor her. Her fingers twist in the fabric, pulling it tighter across her lap. “Ray started messaging me weeks ago,” she confesses, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Fake numbers. Disappearing threads. He sent a box with a lock of Hope's hair. The ribbon had blood on it.”
Something inside me goes rigid. My entire body locks, my muscles tensing from my shoulders down to my legs. The air in the room feels thinner and harder to pull into my lungs. My hands curl into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms.
“You didn't tell me about this,” I mutter, my voice rougher now. The words scrape against my throat on the way out.
“I was terrified,” she whispers, her eyes glistening. “He threatened her unless I did what he wanted.”
My jaw tightens until my teeth ache. I force myself to breathe evenly, to keep my voice from rising. “What else?”
“He demanded files,” she goes on, her voice barely holding together. Each word sounds like it's being dragged out of her against her will. “He told me to get it for him or he'd kill her. He told me that if I mentioned it to you, even once, she would bleed for it.”
My pulse moves like a hammer behind my ribs, each beat echoing in my ears. The room feels smaller, the walls pressing in. I want to put my fist through something to channel the rage building inside me into action. But Sage is sitting in front of me, trembling, and I can't afford to lose control. Not when she needs me to stay grounded.
“And you chose to send him something,” I point out, the words rough and uneven.
“Yes,” she murmurs, her voice so quiet I almost don't hear it. “But not what he wanted.”
Her chin lifts a little, a small act of defiance that breaks through the fear. Her eyes meet mine, watery but full of some quiet resolve that nearly unravels me. She's terrified, but she's also fighting. Fighting for Hope. Fighting to protect me, even if she doesn't realize how little protection I need.
“I created fake folders filled with outdated, useless material,” she continues, her words coming faster now. “I copied that onto the USB he sent. Nothing that could hurt you, Luka. Nothing that touches your real routes or allies. Nothing current.”
I study her, the fear in her voice, and the hope that I will understand. She's telling me she tried to protect both of us, to walk the line between Ray's demands and her loyalty to me. But the reality is she made a choice without me. She decided what I could and couldn't know, and that decision put her in danger. Put Hope in danger.
“You risked everything,” I finally breathe, my voice low. “You risked my anger and my wrath.”
“For Hope,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “And for you. I wasn't going to betray you.”
She reaches for her phone, her hand shaking as she scrolls through messages. She finds what she's looking for and hands it to me, her fingers trembling against the device.
I take it, my eyes scanning the screen. The last message from Ray sits at the top of the thread, stark and cold.
Package received. She lives another day. Do not grow brave, Sage.
My vision darkens at the corners, a red haze creeping in from the periphery. I hand the phone back before I crush it in my palm. My fingers itch to destroy something and channel the fury roaring through me into action. But I force myself to stay still, to keep my breathing even.
“You should have told me,” I remind her, my tone gentler now but no less firm.
“I know,” she whispers, her eyes dropping to her lap. “I was afraid.”
I move toward her before she can retreat into herself. My hand lifts to her jaw, my thumb wiping a tear she didn't notice. Her skin trembles under my touch, warm and soft. She's so fragile right now, like she might shatter if I press too hard. But I need her to hear this. I need her to understand.
“You will not hide something like this again,” I warn gently, my thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. “Not from me.”
