They were fuel.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again, because I didn’t know what else to say.
“You did the right thing,” he replied. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
We hung up.
I stayed on the steps long after the call ended, arms wrapped around myself, shaking despite the cold.
Somewhere deep in my chest, beneath the guilt and fear and grief for the friendship I’d just burned to the ground, a single, terrifying truth settled in:
This wasn’t over.
Sage didn’t lose.
Shekept score.
And now?
I was on the list.
The phone rang at 9:47 p.m.
I knew it before I even looked.
My phone was face-down on the coffee table, but my body reacted instantly — heart slamming, skin going cold, breath locking in my chest. I stared at it like it was a live grenade.
Mom looked up from the couch. “Beth?”
I didn’t answer.
The phone buzzed again. Harder this time. Angry.
I flipped it over.
SAGE CALLING
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“If you don’t answer,” Mom said quietly, “she’ll get worse.”
She was right. Sage didn’t disappear when ignored. She escalated.
My hands were slick with sweat as I picked up the phone. I closed my eyes, drew in a slow breath, and told myself the truth I didn’t want to hear.
Sometimes the only way out is straight through.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a low, broken laugh.
“Don’t play stupid with me, Beth.”
Ice slid straight down my spine.
