Chapter 23 Sage #2
He's lost his mother. He's watched his father deteriorate after a stroke. He's seen friends and family members fall to the violence that defines his world. And now he's looking at me like I'm the next person he might lose, and he can't bear it.
The realization softens the anger burning in my chest without extinguishing it completely.
I'm still furious that Hope is gone and terrified of what might be happening to her.
But I also understand, in a way I didn't before, that Luka is doing what he thinks he must to keep me alive. Even if it means I hate him for it.
He steps back first, retreating to the edge of the room as if distance is the only control he has left. “Rest. I will update you when there is news.”
“I don't want updates. I want her.” My voice breaks on the last word, the careful composure I've been maintaining finally cracking under the gravity of everything.
“I know.” His voice drops to a whisper that doesn't sound like surrender but something close.
He leaves before I can answer, the door closing with a soft click. The sound echoes in the quiet room, a period at the end of a sentence I'm not ready to finish.
The quiet that follows is worse than the argument.
I stare at the lilies on the table until their shape blurs, the white petals bleeding into the pale blue walls.
My wrist throbs beneath the bandages. My ribs ache with every breath.
But none of it compares to the hollow space inside my heart where Hope should be.
Night comes without me noticing. The room dims gradually as the sun sets beyond the window, the mountains outside turning from gold to purple to black.
The hum of the monitors is the only sound.
I wake from uneasy sleep I don’t remember surrendering to, footsteps sounding outside.
I hear low voices through the cracked door.
I adjust carefully, the IV tugging at my arm, and listen. My body protests the movement, my ribs screaming and wrist throbbing, but I ignore the pain. Anything is better than lying here with my own thoughts.
Misha’s voice comes first, low and pragmatic, all logistics and no sentiment. “The trail is thin. Ray used shell accounts, but a transfer hit one of the Sokolov fronts in Denver. A small amount, but consistent with how he launders through freight companies.”
Luka's reply is quieter but hard enough to cut through the stillness. “Follow it. Every route, every supplier. If they are moving her, it will be through that network.”
“And if it is a trap?”
“Then I will spring it myself.”
There's a pause, charged with unspoken concerns. I hear Misha sigh, the sound carrying a warning. “You cannot keep running on no sleep. You will burn out before you reach him.”
“I do not have a choice.” Luka's voice lowers, rough around the edges now. “She is still out there. And he knows I will come for her.”
Silence stretches before Misha speaks again. “What about Sage?”
Luka doesn't answer immediately. When he does, the quiet between the words feels like something breaking. “She will hate me for this.”
“Better hate than dead.”
The hallway goes still. I hear their footsteps fade, then the click of a door closing farther down the corridor. The conversation ends, but the words linger in my mind, replaying themselves on an endless loop.
She will hate me for this.
Anxiety swells beneath my ribs as I stare at the ceiling, my heart pounding.
I understand now in a way I didn't before.
This isn't a quick rescue. This is a war, and Hope is the bait drawing both sides toward a confrontation that will end in blood, no matter what happens.
Luka knows it. Misha knows it. And now I know it too.
Luka's world doesn't move in days or weeks.
It moves in blood and patience, in calculated strikes and careful planning.
He's not going to rush in blindly to save Hope because rushing gets people killed.
He's going to hunt Ray the way a predator hunts prey, methodical and relentless, until there's nowhere left for the man to hide.
Yet patience requires time, and I don't know how much time Hope has.
The helplessness I feel is suffocating. But I know Luka will keep hunting, using every resource at his disposal to find my sister. I have to believe he'll succeed. I have to trust him because I have no other choice.
I turn onto my side carefully, mindful of the pain. An image of Vega flashes in my mind. He will recover. It should be enough, but I miss the press of him at my side, the warmth that always manages to chase the fear away.
I force myself to breathe slowly, counting each inhale and exhale until the anxiety subsides to something manageable.
Luka will find her. He has resources I can't even imagine, connections that span states and, probably, countries. He has men who are trained for exactly this situation. People who know how to track, hunt, and fight. And he’s motivated not just by obligation but by what I saw in his eyes when he looked at me earlier.
He cares about Hope because she matters to me. And whatever is developing between us, whatever this complicated thing is that's grown from attraction into something deeper and more dangerous, it means he'll move heaven and earth to bring my sister back safely.
“We’re coming for you,” I whisper into the dark, speaking to Hope even though she can't hear me. “No matter what it costs. No matter how long it takes. I'm going to bring you home.”
The monitor beside me keeps its steady rhythm.
I focus on it until sleep finally drags me under, not gentle or peaceful, but enough to carry me into whatever comes next.
The dreams that follow are a tangle of fragments: Hope’s smile, the ghost of our childhood, Vega’s blood on my skin, and Luka’s face when the hardness gives way for a heartbeat meant for me alone.
When I wake again, the room is dark. The window shows nothing but blackness, the mountains invisible against the night sky. But I feel different somehow, stronger despite the pain. The panic has receded enough for me to think clearly, to plan instead of just react.
Luka will hunt Ray. I’ll heal, and when Hope is found, I won’t just wait on the sidelines. I’ll be there, stronger, smarter, and unafraid to face whatever comes next. Because love demands more than survival. It demands action.