She nods, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Luka.”
I pull her into my chest, wrapping my arms around her. Her arms slide around my waist, her forehead resting against my collarbone. I hold her until the shaking in her body fades, until her breathing evens out and her grip on my shirt loosens.
When I leave her room, Vega pads beside me, his nails clicking softly against the hardwood. I head toward the west wing, where Isaak waits. My mind is still turning over everything Sage told me, sorting through the implications. Ray has been pulling her strings for weeks. And I didn't see it. I didn't protect her from it.
The conference room smells like leather and winter air, the familiar scent settling something inside me. Misha stands beside the table, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. Nikolay sits in a chair across from Isaak, arms crossed, his expression calm and unreadable. Isaak sits at the head of the table, his wheelchair positioned perfectly, and his gaze pinned on me the moment I enter.
The room is silent except for the faint hum of the heating system and the distant sound of rain against the windows. The light drifting through is gray and muted, laying shadows over the polished wood table.
“You think you can keep secrets from me,” Isaak announces, his voice carrying the authority he has never lost despite his physical decline.
I sit, pulling out the chair across from him. The leather creaks under my weight. “We have updates.”
He ignores that, his eyes narrowing. “The girl already distracts you. I warned you.”
My teeth clench, and a pulse of tension runs along my cheek. I keep my voice even. “She is not a distraction.”
“No,” he retorts, his tone cold. “She is a weakness. Thomas Bellamy had weaknesses too. It got him killed.”
My entire body goes still. The air in the room changes, growing heavier. I can feel Misha and Nikolay watching us, their attention divided between Isaak and me. The tension is so thick you can choke on it.
“I'm nothing like him,” I reply, my voice dropping lower.
“I killed him because he betrayed me,” Isaak replies, cold and calm. His eyes never leave mine, his expression unchanging. “He fed the wrong men information, thought he could balance loyalty and sentiment, and in the end he served no one. So, I removed him. A clean solution. If you let that girl pull your focus, you will make the same mistakes he did. Distraction leads to hesitation. Hesitation leads to grave decisions you cannot take back.”
Something inside me stops. The words hit me hard, the impact reverberating through my chest. I knew Isaak ordered Thomas Bellamy's death, but hearing him say it out loud, with Sage just down the hall, makes it real in a way it wasn't before.
Behind me, the door opens. I turn, my body moving on instinct. Sage stands there, pale as winter snow, one hand gripping the frame for support. Her eyes are wide, her breathing shallow. She heard him. She heard every word.
Her eyes fall to Isaak, then to me. Her breath stutters, lodging in her throat. Her knees sway, and her body tips forward as if the ground has been pulled out from under her.
I move before she hits the floor. She collapses forward, and I catch her in my arms, her body folding into my chest. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks, her fingers curling weakly into my shirt. Her skin is cold and clammy. Her pulse races beneath my fingertips.
“You knew,” she breathes, her voice fading. Her words are faint, slipping out between shallow gasps. “You knew and you… and you didn't tell me…”
“I did not know when I met you,” I tell her, holding her close. My arms tighten around her, pulling her against my chest as if I can shield her from the truth by sheer force of will. “I swear it.”
Her forehead drops against my shoulder. A soft sound escapes her, raw and small. It's the sound of something breaking, of trust splintering under the burden of too many secrets. I feel it in my chest, a crack that runs deeper than anything Ray or the Sokolovs could inflict.
Isaak snorts behind me, the sound dismissive. “This is why she will ruin you.”
I do not look at him. I can't. If I turn around right now, I'll say something I can't take back. Something that will fracture what's left of the respect between us. So, I stay where I am, holding Sage, letting her body settle against me.
“The meeting is over,” I order, my voice leaving no room for argument. Then I carry Sage out, Vega trailing behind us with a low, worried whine. The dog stays close, his body brushing against my leg with every step. He knows something is wrong. He always knows.
I carry her back to her room, her body limp in my arms. She doesn't fight me, doesn't try to stand on her own. She just lets me carry her, her face buried against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.
When I lay her on the bed, she curls onto her side, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her eyes are open but unfocused, staring at nothing. I pull the blanket over her, tucking it around hershoulders. Vega jumps onto the bed, curling up at her feet. He rests his head on her ankle, his eyes watching her with quiet concern.
I sit on the edge of the bed, my hand resting on her shoulder. She doesn't move or speak. She just lies there, staring at the wall.
“Sage,” I murmur. “Talk to me.”
She doesn't respond. Her fingers twist in the blanket, pulling it tighter around herself.
I stay there with my hand on her shoulder, waiting. Waiting for her to say something. Anything. But she doesn't. She just lies there, silent and still, and I realize that some truths are too heavy to carry alone.
13
