Page 29 of Sage Haven
A wrongness bloomed in my gut.
Heat pooled behind my eyes.
The world tilted.
And when the darkness swallowed me whole, his arms were the last thing I felt and a familiar song—the last thing I heard, before everything went black.
8
REICH
Inavigated through thecrowd, my focus sharp, eyes locked on the main stage ahead as if it were the only thing anchoring me to the moment. Bodies swayed and collided around me, a living sea of heat and motion, but I moved through it like a current against the tide—fluid, purposeful, unbothered. I had the advantage of height, and I used it without thinking, slipping between dancers and drinkers with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of navigating far more dangerous places.
Music throbbed through the air like an electrical current, the heavy bass vibrating under my skin until it felt like a second heartbeat—louder, more insistent than my own.
For a brief, reckless moment, I let myself feel it.
The pulse of life outside duty.
Outside blood and obligation.
Up ahead, I spotted Castor. He was leaning against the edge of one of the vendor tents, half-hidden in shadows, a drink in one hand and his attention fixed on someone I couldn’t quite see.
I didn’t blame him.
This was our one designated night to forget—to escape the weight of everything we carried. A night off from the kill lists and surveillancefootage. A night where we could pretend we were nothing more than men with nothing to run from.
I’d never admit it out loud, but I was glad he’d convinced me to come.
Maybe I needed this more than I thought.
As I neared the front row, I stopped, dead in my tracks.
A girl stood directly in my path.
Small and Petite.
Her shoulders were tense, hunched ever so slightly forward like she was bracing herself against something invisible. Her fingers absently twirled a lock of her hair—nervous, distracted.
And then, without warning, she yawned.
The most exaggerated, over-the-top yawn I’d ever seen.
Like she was doing it on purpose, and I smirked before I could stop myself.
But it wasn’t the yawn that caught me.
It was her hair.
A mesmerizing blend of deep coffee brown and warm caramel streaks, as rich and wild as something you’d see on a canvas. The ends were dyed a bold green, the color vivid even in the low light, and woven through those thick, wavy strands were wildflowers—tiny blooms in soft whites and muted pale colors.
And then I saw it.
A glint of light catching on the bracelet at her wrist.
A simple thing, but it struck me like a hammer to the ribs.
Recognition was instant.
