Page 217 of Sage Haven
Not with her.
Not with the woman who had already paid in blood for my failures.
If it came down to it, I would go to the ENA.
I’d pay whatever price they demanded. I’d bleed. I’d burn. I’d break myself into nothing if it meant ensuring her future. Because she deserved that. She deserved a life untouched by the chaos I carried inside me. By the darkness I’d let them carve into me.
I wanted her to shine and I would do everything in my power to make sure she did.
Even if it meant stepping back into the shadows where I belonged. Even if it meant being the monster she’d have to forget. Because she had already suffered enough for multiple lifetimes.
And I would not let her endure any more in this one.
She deserved everything. And I knew I could never give it to her.
But it didn’t stop me from wondering—how the fuck was I supposed to walk away from her?
When I loved her and knew with every agonizing certainty that this would break her.
The same way it was already breaking me.
***
That evening, Keenan stopped by. He was the one person who might understand. The only one who could stand in this emotional upheaval with me and not flinch.
After everything he’d been through—everything he’d lost—there was a part of me that thought maybe he’d already figured out the answers I was still searching for.
It had been a while since we last talked. Really talked—without a crisis looming or a rescue plan on the table.
Longer than I’d thought, if I’m honest.
Time has this way of stretching thin between us, like an old scar you forget about until it starts aching again.
Last I heard, Keenan and Nael were working a trade to get Blythe back.
But the ENA didn’t deal in mercy.
They didn’t do trades.
If you wanted something from them, you didn’t offerleverage.
You offered certainty.
A currency so undeniable they couldn’t ignore it and even then, no one really ever made it out once they were under ENA control.
But Keenan refused to accept that.
Six months.
That’s how long it had been since they took her.
And I could see it wearing on him now.
The weight behind his eyes. The exhaustion stitched into the corners of his mouth when he thought no one was looking. But he was still here. Still fighting.
And I didn’t know if I should respect him or pity him for it.
Maybe both.
