Page 187 of Sage Haven

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The front door open, like a silent scream, gaping wide.

The kind of stillness that meant something terrible had already happened.

And the worst was still to come.

My pulse roared as I stepped inside.

Each footfall echoing in the cavernous silence like gunshots.

The foyer was dark.

Too dark.

And cold.

Not from the temperature but from the absence.

Her absence.

And then I saw it.

Glass shards scattered like ice across the hardwood floors.

A picture frame smashed.

I picked up the broken pieces of it, glass biting into my skin.

Further in I saw strands of her hair tangled in the destruction.

Dark red streaks—blood—trailing across the floor.

From the library.

Out the door.

Gone.

And there, in the middle of it all, a notepad.

Her handwriting scrawled across the page.

Words that were just hers.

Words she would have never wanted anyone to see—and she’d written them here.

I picked it up, my hands trembling like they hadn’t in years.

She’d been sitting right there. Writing these lines. Feeling something.

Thinking she was safe. Thinking I was coming back.

My throat burned.

I pressed the page to my chest and closed my eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to promise her I’d fix this.

And then I moved.

Fast. Instinct. Muscle memory.

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