Page 222 of Sage Haven
No plan. No strategy. Only this burning ache that refused to die.
But one thing was certain—this wasn’t over.
Not even close.
50
REICH
Iwoke with theweight of sleep pressing against my skull, the haze of unconsciousness still wrapped tight around my senses. My body ached—not the deep, bone-grinding exhaustion I was used to after long nights in the pit, but something different. Slower. Like my mind and muscles were moving through mud. Sluggish. Off.
But one thing was sharp.
One image burned into my brain like a brand.
Sage. Her face.
Those wild, defiant eyes that had made me reckless from the first moment I saw them.
Fuck.
Pain flared as I flexed my wrists, raw skin catching on leather straps that dug deep enough to sting but not tight enough to keep me down. Sloppy work. Whoever tied me down hadn’t known what they were doing. The knots were loose. Lazy. Careless.
I could break out of them blindfolded, asleep.
And I almost did—until I caught the faintest scent in the air.
Not leather. Not sweat. Wildflowers.
A thin strip of light bled in from beneath the door, weak and pale, but it was enough. Enough to make out the walls. The faint outline of the heavy metal chair beneath me. The scuffs on the concrete floors.
Recognition hit like a freight train to the ribs.
My basement. My pit.
The irony was so thick it made my teeth ache.
I turned my head, as much as I could, and caught movement.
Soft. Deliberate.
A figure detached itself from the shadows, emerging with an eerie kind of grace.
And even before she stepped fully into the light, I knew.
I knew every line of her body. Every flick of her hair. Every breath she took into those perfect lips.
My beautiful wildflower.
The one I was supposed to have let go.
And yet here she was.
Owning the room, I’d built to break people in. Wearing red like sin and moving like she had been born to ruin me.
“Good morning, my light.” Her voice was syrup-sweet, but there was steel buried beneath it.
A taunt. A dare. A promise.
