The house comes into view sooner than I expect, floodlights spilling over the walls and gate. We roll through without slowing much, the guard at the gate flashing a quick look at my bandaged arm and then glancing away, smart enough not to ask questions now.
The SUV pulls up near the front steps. I open the door and climb out, my arm throbbing in protest. Vega jumps down after me and immediately moves close, his shoulder brushing my leg as we climb the steps together.
The warmth of the house barely touches me as I move through the foyer. Something in the air feels wrong. Vega feels it too. His ears angle forward, his body drawing in tight as we reach theguest wing. My pulse lifts, a hard beat against my ribs, and by the time I get to her door, I already know.
The room waits in silence. Her shoes are gone. Her jacket is gone. Her bag is gone. And on the pillow, a single note lies like a bruise against the sheets.
I step to the bed and open it. The handwriting is rushed, the pressure of the pen digging into the paper.
I’m sorry. I have to save Hope. It’s an old warehouse near the docks marked number three. The building has a green door on the south side. Please find me.
My jaw locks so hard my teeth grind. I read the words again, then fold the note slowly, as if my hands can keep from breaking something else. She walked straight into a trap she could not see.
Ray is dead. The real enemy is not.
15
SAGE
The hallway stretches before me, endless and cold despite the warmth pumping through the heating vents. My arms wrap around my stomach without conscious thought, a protective gesture that has become automatic over the past few days. The floors gleam under recessed lighting, and my reflection moves alongside me in the polished surface, pale and ghostlike.
I can’t stay in that room another second. The walls seem to close in, the silence growing too thick to swallow. Every breath feels like my lungs forgot how to work. I pass a marble statue in an alcove, some Greek figure frozen mid-movement, and wonder if that is how I look right now. Frozen. Unable to move forward or back. Just stuck in this moment while Hope breathes somewhere I can’t reach her.
My fingers press harder against my abdomen, feeling the flatness there that will eventually curve outward.My baby.I still can’t wrap my mind around it. A life inside me that didn’t ask to be created in the middle of a war. A life that deserves better than a mother who can’t even save her own sister.
The kitchen appears at the end of the corridor, warm light spilling through the doorway. I step inside, and the space opens around me. Granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a massive window overlooking the water. Everything here is designed to perfection. Nothing is accidental or careless. Even the tea bags, arranged in their wooden box, look as if someone placed them with intention.
I fill the kettle with filtered tap water and set it on the stove. The gas flame flares to life with a soft whoosh. I lean against the counter and wait, watching the blue flames dance under the metal.
A maid passes through, her arms full of folded linens. She nods politely but doesn’t stop to chat. The staff here move like ghosts, present but invisible, trained not to intrude. I appreciate that right now. I can’t handle small talk when my thoughts spiral in every direction.
The kettle begins to whistle, high and insistent. I pour the steaming water over a chamomile tea bag in a porcelain cup. The floral scent rises with the steam, mingling with the lingering smell of dinner served hours ago. I didn’t eat much. Food has become something my body tolerates rather than something I enjoy.
I wrap my hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into my palms. My fingers are always cold now. I don’t know if that is pregnancy, fear, or both. The warmth helps anyway.
The house is quiet in a way that makes my ears ring. I hear the distant hum of the heating system and the faint tick of a clock somewhere down the hall, but nothing human. No voices or footsteps. Luka must have left while I was pacing the guest room. He does that sometimes, slipping out for meetings orsecurity checks without announcement. He always comes back, but the absence still leaves a hollow space in the air.
I carry the tea back through the corridors, retracing my steps. When I reach my room, I push the door open with my shoulder and step inside. The space feels warmer here, the fireplace lit and pouring golden light across the furniture, likely started by one of the staff who anticipated my return. Vega is missing from his usual spot near the hearth, and I assume he left with Luka.
I set the tea on the nightstand and sink onto the edge of the bed. The mattress gives slightly under my weight, soft and yielding. I should drink the tea while it’s hot, but I can’t bring myself to lift the cup again. My hands rest in my lap instead, my fingers twisted together.
The phone on the nightstand begins to vibrate from a blocked number. The sound pushes into the quiet with a suddenness that makes my pulse leap. I stare at the screen, watching it light up and go dark with each pulse. My stomach tightens, a visceral reaction that sends nausea climbing up my throat.
I reach for it slowly, my fingers trembling as they close around the device. The vibrations travel up my arm as I swipe the screen and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” My voice comes out thin and uncertain.
Static crackles through the speaker, faint and hissing. Then silence. No breathing. No background noise. Just empty air stretching between me and whoever is on the other end.
“Who is this?” I question, my pulse beginning to hammer in my ears.
The static fades just enough to reveal a small, broken voice so familiar it drags the air from my lungs.
“Sage.”
Hope.
The word barely makes it through the line, choked and raw. My chest caves inward, and I clutch the phone harder, pressing it against my ear until the plastic edge digs into my skin.
