I think of Hope, somewhere out there in whatever place Ray has decided to hide her. I think of the baby growing inside me, no bigger than a bean right now, but still real. A new life that didn’t ask for any of this.
Luka deserves to know.The thought slips into place with calm certainty. He has stood between me and ruin more than once now. He has used every resource at his disposal to try to find my sister, even when it meant facing his own father. He has hurt me, too. He has lied, kept secrets, and dragged me deeper into a world I never wanted. Both things are true at the same time.
But this baby is his, too. He gets to know. He gets to decide what he does with that knowledge. I won’t make the same choice my father did. I won’t walk away from the truth because it’s easier.
I rest one hand on my stomach, my palm flat against the thin cotton of the oversized shirt I slept in. “You deserve better,” I whisper to the quiet space there. “We all do.” My voice sounds a little steadier when I test it out loud. That feels like something.
Outside the bathroom window, the sky hangs low and gray over Seattle. I can hear faint traffic somewhere far below, and a hint of rain taps against the glass. This city feels different from AspenRidge in every way, yet right now the cloud cover makes it seem closer, like both places share the same heavy sky.
I step back into the guest room and dress slowly. Leggings paired with a soft pink sweater. The fabric smells faintly of lavender and starch, clean and comforting. When I open the door, the hallway is quiet. The light from tall windows frames photographs of places I don’t recognize.
I follow the path down the hall and past a long sitting room filled with art. Somewhere ahead, I can hear muted voices and the clink of dishes. The smell of coffee drifts through the air, richer than the burnt diner kind I grew up with.
Anya looks up from the kitchen island when I appear. Her eyes sweep over my face in a way that tells me I’m not hiding anything from her, but she doesn’t push.
“Good morning,” she offers gently. “You are up early. Do you feel well enough to eat?”
“I think so,” I reply. My stomach curls at the thought of pancakes, so I scan the counter for something lighter. “Maybe just toast. And tea, if that’s alright.”
“Of course.” She moves quietly, placing a mug in front of me and adding a slice of toast to a small plate. Her gaze lingers on me for a second longer than usual. “Luka is in the conservatory. It is his habit in the late morning when he is in the city. He likes the light there, even when the day is gray.”
I take a sip of tea. The warmth moves through me, calming the knot in my chest. “Is it okay if I go there?” I ask.
“I think he would like that,” she replies, and a hint of a smile touches her mouth.
My pulse bumps higher. This is it. I could stall. I could tell myself I need another day, another test, or another sign. But that is how secrets grow into walls. I’m already tired of hiding.
I eat half the toast, more to convince my body to cooperate than because I’m hungry. Then I thank Anya and make my way down the corridor she indicated. At the far end, glass doors wait, framed by tall plants I don’t know the names of. Moist, earthy air seeps under the gap at the bottom.
I push the handle and step inside. The conservatory feels like another world. Glass walls and a vaulted ceiling reveal a slice of Seattle sky, thick with clouds. Rows of plants crowd the space, leaves glossy and damp, flowers opening in bursts of color that stand out against all the gray. The air is warmer here, carrying the scent of soil and a soft floral trace.
Luka stands near the far wall, next to a long table lined with smaller pots and gardening tools. He wears a dark sweater and slacks, his sleeves pushed up to his forearms. A faint smear of soil marks one wrist. He’s looking at something on his phone, his brow furrowed with the familiar tension in his shoulders, making him look taller and broader, like he could block the whole world if he needed to.
I pause for a breath I hope he can’t hear, then I walk toward him. My footsteps are soft on the stone floor. Vega lifts his head from where he rests beside a large planter and spots me first. His tail thumps, and that small welcome loosens the tension cinched in my chest.
Luka looks up at the sound and his eyes find mine. For a heartbeat, everything slows. There is a brush of concern there, then relief, and then an emotion he doesn’t quite hide.
“Sage,” he greets, his voice low.
“Hi,” I reply, my fingers twisting together before I force them to relax. “Anya said you were here.”
He sets his phone face down on the table and steps closer. His eyes travel over my face like he’s looking for damage. His hand rises, and he brushes an invisible strand of hair from my cheek, his knuckles grazing my skin.
“You look tired,” he observes. “Did you sleep at all?”
“A little,” I answer. My throat tightens around the rest of what I need to say. I swallow and give myself nowhere else to run. “I had a dream about my father. About Thomas.”
Something in his expression softens. He takes a half step back, giving me space without leaving me feeling abandoned.
“After what you heard last night, that is not surprising,” he remarks. “I should have kept my father away from that conversation.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say softly. “He’s the one who spoke and I’m the one who listened.”
He watches me quietly, waiting. The clouds overhead dull the light, but I can still see the tiny flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. Vega inches closer and rests his head against my leg, as if he senses my nerves.
“My mother never talked about him,” I continue. “About what he did before he left. I always thought it hurt too much. Now I think she was trying to protect us from what he really was. From what he chose.”
Luka’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking near his temple. “Thomas was an asset to the organization for a long time,” he explains slowly. “But he made decisions that put a lot of people at risk. My father has his own way of dealing with betrayal.”
