Page 73 of Two Sides of Sin

“Command, this is Blackburn. Sector four is secure. Local contractor breached the perimeter, suspect has been neutralised and removed from the site.”

He let his hand drop. He still didn’t look at me.

“Pack up your equipment, Sage,” he ordered, his voice hollow and commanding. “Noah is on his way to the eastern entrance. I will have someone escort you back to the civilian barracks annex. Do not work in this sector alone again.”

“Are you leaving?” I asked, my frustration melting into a strange, inexplicable panic at the thought of him walking away into the dark.

“My shift is over,” he lied smoothly. I knew it was a lie.

Julian took a step backwards, letting the shadows of the ruined cathedral cloisters swallow him. “Goodnight, ma’am.”

He turned on his heel and disappeared into the cool night before I could say another word. He moved silent, without a single crunch of gravel or scuff of a boot, leaving me standing alone in the harsh white light.

He was cold. He was distant. And he had practically told me to my face that I was nothing more than a liability.

The next morning, the damp chill of the European night had burned off, replaced by the heavy, humid atmosphere inside the supply tent. I had ditched my oversized work shirts for a pair of denim shorts and a fitted white crop top, hoping to catch whatever nonexistent breeze managed to slip through the canvas flaps.

I was currently leaning against a stack of crates, laughing so hard my sides ached.

Noah was sitting on an overturned bucket, effortlessly balancing a clipboard on his knee while he dramatically recounted a story about Julian accidentally intimidating a stray goat off the perimeter line.

“I’m telling you, Sage, the goat actually surrendered,” Noah said, dead serious, though his eyes were crinkling with amusement. “It looked at Jules, accepted it was outmatched by his sheer aura of despair, and just marched itself back out of the camp. Didn’t even bleat.”

I covered my mouth, giggling as I sorted through a box of fresh brushes. “You’re horrible. He’s not that bad.”

“Oh, he’s worse,” Noah countered, chuckling. He let the clipboard rest against his leg, his expression softening a bit as the laughter faded into an easy, comfortable silence. He tilted his head, studying me. “So, what about you? What’s waiting for you back home when you finish up here? Big crazy family? Worried boyfriend?”

My smile faltered slightly, the familiar, hollow ache settling in my chest.

“No,” I said softly. “Neither, actually.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in my tone. “No family?”

“I was adopted out when I was a baby,” I explained, keeping my voice light, even though the words always felt heavy. “I don’t know anything about my birth parents. And my adoptive parents… well, they were older. They provided for me, but they didn’t really care for me, if that makes sense. It was a very cold house. They retired and moved away a few years ago, and we barely speak.”

Noah’s easygoing demeanour shifted into something incredibly gentle and attentive. “Damn. I’m sorry, Sage. That sounds lonely.”

“It is,” I admitted, looking up at him with a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I always felt… out of place. Like I was dropped into the wrong life and I was just waiting to wake up one morning to my real one. But I always knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to be surrounded by history. By art.”

“So you busted your ass to get here.”

“I did,” I nodded, a genuine spark of pride breaking through the melancholy. “I studied constantly. Got a full-ride scholarship, it was the only way I could afford school. I actually just graduated last year. This restoration project is my first real job since getting qualified.”

I leaned back slightly, tracing a knuckle along the edge of a crate. “I’ve already enrolled in a few more classes for when I get home, though. I think I have a problem—I can’t seem to stay still for too long. My brain just won’t let me. My hunger for knowledge… it’s become this unquenchable thing, an insatiable need. The more I learn, the more I realise how much of the world is yet to be discovered.”

Noah let out a low whistle of appreciation. “That’s cool. Seriously.”

“Thanks,” I smiled softly, looking around the dusty, supply-filled tent. “It sounds crazy, but being out here, halfway across the world, digging through the ruins of history… it’s the only time I don’t feel like an intruder in my own life. I’ve always felt like I didn’t really have a place in the world. Art and travel seem to be the only thing that makes me feel complete.”

Noah watched me for a brief moment, a profound empathy in his eyes. For a guy who joked constantly, he really listened. “Well,” he said quietly, “For what it’s worth, I think you belong exactly where you are.” He paused, a slow, teasing grin returning to his face to lighten the heavy mood. “And you definitely belong out here with us misfits. Which brings me to my next point…”

I rolled my eyes playfully, grateful for the pivot. “Here we go.”

“What exactly did you do to my brooding monolith of a best friend in that chapel?” Noah asked, leaning forward with a knowing look. “Because I’m starting to think you brought a cauldron with you on this deployment.”

“I didn’t do anything, Noah. I just clean old stained glass and stone structures.”

“Right. Well, whatever spell you put on him, it’s potent,” Noah teased, waving his pen at me. “The guy is short-circuiting. I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen the Machine glitch before. You must be a witch. Did you hex his MREs? Curse his combat boots?”