45. Scarlet Sage
Scarlet Sage
Sweet Tooth is closed to tourists for the morning. Honey has turned the sign to Private Event. In Sweetheart Haven, that means everyone has already guessed what is happening and is pretending not to look through the windows.
A shadow passes the front window for the third time in five minutes.
Honey glances toward it from behind the counter. “If Mrs. Bell walks by again, I’m charging her for the show.”
I sit sideways in Wes’s lap in the corner booth, with my boots tucked beneath me.
His arm circles my waist, keeping me close without pressing against the bond marks hidden beneath the collar of my dress.
They’re still tender. Every time Wes shifts, the bond between us warms with the steady certainty of cedar.
Roman sits close beside him, one hand resting around my ankle beneath the table. His cardamom and cinnamon curl through the new connection until we feel less like three separate people sharing a booth and more like one living thing with too many hands.
Wes holds a piece of cinnamon roll to my mouth. When I accept the bite, his satisfaction moves through the bond before his purr reaches me.
“You need to eat too,” I tell him.
He eats from the same piece. Roman steals the next one from his fork.
Wes gives him a flat look.
“What?” Roman asks. “Pack assets are shared.”
“That was my cinnamon roll.”
“Our cinnamon roll,” I reply.
Roman grins. “She understands communal property.”
The sweetness helps settle the nervous movement in my stomach.
Pepper sits across from us, with an evidence folder beside her coffee. Junie and Honey share the bench, both watching me with the careful attention.
Junie gives up first. She slides out of the booth and comes around the table. I barely have time to put down my coffee before she wraps her arms around me.
My body stiffens for half a breath. Then I fold into her.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“You didn’t do this.” The old hurt tightens in my chest.
Junie keeps holding me. “You were warning us.”
“I didn’t understand what was happening.”
“You understood enough to try.”
Honey leans across the table and wraps an arm around my shoulders. Between her, Junie, Wes beneath me, and Roman at my side, there is nowhere left to retreat.
Pepper stays seated. “Some of us respect personal space.”
I reach across the table.
She takes my hand.
Her fingers squeeze mine, firm and warm.
The bakery smells like coffee, sugar, and fresh bread.
Familiar things. Ordinary things. For years, I’ve entered rooms like this, prepared to leave before anyone asks me to.
Today I sit in the center of the booth with my alpha beneath me, my beta against my side, and my friends crowding close.
For maybe the first time, I’m not standing at the edge of my own life.
The bell above the front door rings when Tom lets himself inside. Honey points toward the sign.
“I brought official paperwork,” Tom says.
“That is worse,” Honey says.
Tom crosses the bakery, carrying a folder thick enough to damage the table. He stops beside our booth, and his gaze catches on the marks beneath my collar before he politely looks elsewhere. “Congratulations.”
Roman smiles. “Thank you.”
Wes tightens his arm around me.
Tom pulls a chair from the next table. “We have the first complete case update. Some of it will be released publicly this afternoon. Some stays with BESTF.”
“BESTF,” I say. “Still the least-comforting acronym in law enforcement.”
Roman’s shoulder presses against mine. “We considered Best Friends, but the uniforms tested poorly.”
Tom ignores him with the ease of long-suffering practice.
“Sullivan Mercer’s phone, vest, and motorcycle carry Hollow Saints insignia.
The bike recovered near the south access trail matches traffic footage from Heritage Hall.
The gang used Mercer Transport contracts to move carrier compound, cash, and equipment through multiple counties. ”
“The person who fired the darts?” Wes asks.
“Gang associate. Deputies caught him at the old timber landing after his motorcycle stalled in the mud.”
Roman leans forward. “Any connection to the manufacturing site?”
“Not yet. The annex was a local blending, testing, and distribution point. The concentrated GatorX base arrived sealed from somewhere else.”
“So Sullivan wasn’t making it,” I say.
“No. The Hollow Saints brought the concentrated base into the region. Sullivan used the annex to alter it, test delivery methods, and move the operation through Mercer Transport.” Tom taps the report.
“Rusk confirms he was paid to make deliveries and pickups, but he never knew who was directing him. The money trail and transport records connect that work to Sullivan.”
He turns another page. “Myrtle admitted she used the shared Heritage Hall account to access your grandmother’s correction and authorize the sealed museum transfer.
She supplied the history and access because she believed the Love Stone could make the relief last without destroying bond recognition. ”
My stomach turns, despite Wes’s warmth around me. “Did she know about the cameras at my house?”
“No. Sullivan added the surveillance and increased the concentration without telling her. But she helped steal the artifact, concealed evidence, and participated in dosing Maribel.”
“Grief explains why she did it,” I say. “It doesn’t excuse her.”
Tom nods. “Myrtle and Sullivan are both being held. Sullivan faces charges for the shooting, abduction, drug operation, evidence destruction, and the attack on the search team. Myrtle’s charges will reflect her role, including unlawful restraint and administering the compound.”
Junie’s face has gone pale. “What about Maribel?”
“She is at the regional clinic with her pack. Recognition has remained stable since the exposure ended.”
Relief moves through the booth.
“They aren’t being pressured to rebond,” Tom says. “A counselor explained their options, including temporary separation and formal release. Maribel will decide what happens next.”
A place inside me loosens that I didn’t realize was still tight.
Tom removes a laboratory report. “The release-site water tested positive for a diluted compound related to the local GatorX carrier.”
Pepper reaches for the report before remembering it belongs to law enforcement.
Tom slides a copy toward her. “The concentration is too low to cause the acute recognition failures we saw with direct dosing,” he says. “But the old channel connects with marsh runoff, feeding the springs and the fountain system.”
Honey stops wiping the counter. “Are you saying it’s in the town water?”
“We have shut down the public fountains and issued a temporary advisory while additional samples are tested. The drinking-water plant has separate treatment, and those samples are currently clear.”
“Currently?” Junie asks.
“We’re testing everything.”
I stare at the branching blue lines on the map attached to the report.
The release site. The old channel. The springs. The decorative fountains tourists touch before making wishes for lasting love.
“All those packs who never used the bundles,” I say.
Tom’s expression turns grim. “Repeated low-level exposure may have made vulnerable bonds more unstable. We don’t know how long contamination has been present or whether GatorX is the only factor.”
My hands turn cold. Wes feels it through the bond. His purr deepens, and his palm spreads against my stomach. “You didn’t cause this.”
Roman takes my hand and presses it against his chest. His heartbeat remains steady beneath my palm. “You felt the damage before anyone else knew what it was.”
The truth settles slowly.
I remember every warning I gave that came too late or sounded too strange… every person who looked at me as though noticing danger meant I had invited it.
My sensitivity didn’t crack their bonds. It heard them cracking.
“I’m not a curse,” I say.
Honey’s eyes fill. “No, honey. You never were.”
Pepper keeps her voice matter-of-fact, which makes her words reach deeper. “You’re an alarm system with terrible customer service.”
A laugh escapes me. It shakes at the edges, but it’s real.
Wes kisses my temple.
Roman’s thumb moves across my knuckles.
Tom waits until my breathing steadies before continuing. “The botanical binder recovered from the water doesn’t match anything cataloged at the annex.”
Pepper taps the report. “It isn’t native to this part of Florida. Someone would need to import it or grow it under controlled conditions.”
“Which means the manufacturing source is elsewhere,” Wes says.
“And still operating,” Roman replies.
Tom looks at them. “I asked BESTF to extend your assignment. The annex evidence links the Hollow Saints to three other regional clusters. We need to identify where the base drug is being manufactured and determine whether the water contamination here was deliberate or runoff from local experiments.”
I look between my mates. “You’re staying for the case.”
Wes touches his mouth to my temple. “We’re staying because this is home now.”
Roman squeezes my hand. “The case gives the government a useful reason to keep paying us while we live here.”
Honey points a wooden spoon toward them. “You’re not turning her cottage into a field office.”
“I already vetoed tactical corkboards in the bedroom,” I tell her.
Wes frowns. “One corkboard?”
“No.”
The bond carries his offended dignity. It makes me smile.
Tom closes the folder. “The rest happens at noon.”
“What happens at noon?” I ask.
“Your name gets cleared.”
Sweetheart Haven gathers outside Heritage Hall as though public humiliation is another festival event. The board finally closed the galleries.
A temporary platform stands beneath the front awning. Behind it, the empty display case has been covered with brown paper while the museum prepares a corrected exhibit.
I stand between Wes and Roman near the edge of the crowd. My friends remain close behind us.
The town council occupies the platform with Tom and the museum director. No one looks comfortable.
Tom speaks first. He confirms the Love Stone was recovered and that Sullivan Mercer and Myrtle Vane have been arrested in connection with the theft, GatorX distribution, and the attack at the old cypress site. Then he says my name.
“Scarlet Sage wasn’t involved in the theft or distribution operation.
She was targeted, surveilled, and exposed without her knowledge.
Her historical expertise led investigators to the annex and the recovery site.
Her actions directly contributed to Maribel Lane’s rescue and the safe recovery of the artifact. ”
The crowd shifts. Some people look at me.
Others find the ground suddenly fascinating.
Tom steps away from the microphone, then stops.
“This department searched Ms. Sage’s home early in the investigation.
The search was lawful, but suspicion grew faster than the evidence justified.
I allowed assumptions about her family and reputation to influence how this town treated her.
” His gaze meets mine across the crowd. “I’m sorry. ”
The apology doesn’t erase the deputies searching my property or the whispers outside Sweet Tooth. It doesn’t need to. It puts responsibility where it belongs.
I nod.
The museum director approaches the microphone next.
He looks as though he would prefer to be swallowed by the swamp.
“For generations, Heritage Hall displayed the recovered artifact known as the Love Stone and presented the Everlasting Pack legend as established history. But the museum’s records omitted portions of the original tradition, including a release route and language establishing that protection required continued choice.
” He looks toward me. “Heritage Hall will revise the exhibit with Ms. Sage’s consultation, should she choose to provide it. ”
Every head turns in my direction. Wes’s hand settles against my back. Roman waits beside me.
“I’ll review the records,” I say. “The museum can decide whether it wants the truth after it sees how much needs changing.”
Honey makes a delighted sound behind me.
The director swallows. “That would be appreciated.”
The town council announces that the Month of Heart opening will be delayed while the water system is tested and public spaces are cleared.
No one boos. That may be the most miraculous event of the week.
Afterward, people approach in awkward waves. Some apologize. Some thank me.
A few say they always knew I was innocent, which is a lie so obvious, I decide correcting it would waste everyone’s time. Mrs. Bell grips my hand and tells me my grandmother would be proud.
I don’t know whether that is true. I know I finally understand what she tried to preserve. She didn’t mark a path away from love. She preserved the right to choose it.
By evening, the cottage has absorbed another day of becoming ours.
Wes installs one additional lock after asking where I want it.
Honey delivers more food than three people can reasonably eat.
Pepper leaves a tray of seedlings on the porch, with strict instructions not to let Wes water them.
Junie brings a framed copy of the corrected route map, and Roman hangs it in the downstairs hall.
I stand in the bedroom while late light crosses the quilts in our nest. Nothing feels displaced. Their lives have simply settled beside mine.
Wes comes up behind me and places his hands on my waist.
Roman steps in front of me. “Too much?” he asks.
I listen to the house: the soft hum of the new security panel, boxes waiting to be unpacked, Wes’s cedar wrapping around my back, Roman’s warmth in front of me, the bond between us carrying affection, fatigue, and the low ache of everything we survived.
“No. It’s just right.”
Roman smiles.
Wes kisses the mark on my neck.
I turn in his arms and lower myself onto his lap when he sits on the edge of the nest. He gathers me close without hesitation.
Roman joins us, tucking my legs across his thighs and opening his sketchbook.
“You’re not drawing me right now. I’ve been sweating for an hour.”
“I’m documenting an important historical event.”
“What event?”
“The first recorded instance of Scarlet Sage voluntarily sitting still.”
Wes’s purr vibrates through my cheek.
I reach over and close Roman’s sketchbook.
He kisses my fingers.
BESTF still has a gang to track, a manufacturing site to find, and contaminated water to understand. Sweetheart Haven still has old lies buried beneath its prettiest traditions. The town will need time to heal. So will I. But I’m not waiting alone for the next thing to break.
I rest my head over Wes’s heart and place my feet in Roman’s lap. Cedar surrounds me. Cardamom and cinnamon warm the air. The cottage no longer feels like the place where I hide from the town. It feels like the place my pack comes home to.