Chapter 15 Sage
SAGE
The hallway stretches before me, endless and cold despite the warmth pumping through the heating vents.
My arms wrap around my stomach without conscious thought, a protective gesture that has become automatic over the past few days.
The floors gleam under recessed lighting, and my reflection moves alongside me in the polished surface, pale and ghostlike.
I can’t stay in that room another second.
The walls seem to close in, the silence growing too thick to swallow.
Every breath feels like my lungs forgot how to work.
I pass a marble statue in an alcove, some Greek figure frozen mid-movement, and wonder if that is how I look right now.
Frozen. Unable to move forward or back. Just stuck in this moment while Hope breathes somewhere I can’t reach her.
My fingers press harder against my abdomen, feeling the flatness there that will eventually curve outward.
My baby. I still can’t wrap my mind around it.
A life inside me that didn’t ask to be created in the middle of a war.
A life that deserves better than a mother who can’t even save her own sister.
The kitchen appears at the end of the corridor, warm light spilling through the doorway.
I step inside, and the space opens around me.
Granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a massive window overlooking the water.
Everything here is designed to perfection.
Nothing is accidental or careless. Even the tea bags, arranged in their wooden box, look as if someone placed them with intention.
I fill the kettle with filtered tap water and set it on the stove. The gas flame flares to life with a soft whoosh. I lean against the counter and wait, watching the blue flames dance under the metal.
A maid passes through, her arms full of folded linens. She nods politely but doesn’t stop to chat. The staff here move like ghosts, present but invisible, trained not to intrude. I appreciate that right now. I can’t handle small talk when my thoughts spiral in every direction.
The kettle begins to whistle, high and insistent.
I pour the steaming water over a chamomile tea bag in a porcelain cup.
The floral scent rises with the steam, mingling with the lingering smell of dinner served hours ago.
I didn’t eat much. Food has become something my body tolerates rather than something I enjoy.
I wrap my hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into my palms. My fingers are always cold now. I don’t know if that is pregnancy, fear, or both. The warmth helps anyway.
The house is quiet in a way that makes my ears ring.
I hear the distant hum of the heating system and the faint tick of a clock somewhere down the hall, but nothing human.
No voices or footsteps. Luka must have left while I was pacing the guest room.
He does that sometimes, slipping out for meetings or security checks without announcement.
He always comes back, but the absence still leaves a hollow space in the air.
I carry the tea back through the corridors, retracing my steps.
When I reach my room, I push the door open with my shoulder and step inside.
The space feels warmer here, the fireplace lit and pouring golden light across the furniture, likely started by one of the staff who anticipated my return.
Vega is missing from his usual spot near the hearth, and I assume he left with Luka.
I set the tea on the nightstand and sink onto the edge of the bed. The mattress gives slightly under my weight, soft and yielding. I should drink the tea while it’s hot, but I can’t bring myself to lift the cup again. My hands rest in my lap instead, my fingers twisted together.
The phone on the nightstand begins to vibrate from a blocked number. The sound pushes into the quiet with a suddenness that makes my pulse leap. I stare at the screen, watching it light up and go dark with each pulse. My stomach tightens, a visceral reaction that sends nausea climbing up my throat.
I reach for it slowly, my fingers trembling as they close around the device. The vibrations travel up my arm as I swipe the screen and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” My voice comes out thin and uncertain.
Static crackles through the speaker, faint and hissing. Then silence. No breathing. No background noise. Just empty air stretching between me and whoever is on the other end.
“Who is this?” I question, my pulse beginning to hammer in my ears.
The static fades just enough to reveal a small, broken voice so familiar it drags the air from my lungs.
“Sage.”
Hope.
The word barely makes it through the line, choked and raw. My chest caves inward, and I clutch the phone harder, pressing it against my ear until the plastic edge digs into my skin.
“Hope,” I breathe. “Where are you?”
The screen suddenly lights up, switching from audio to video without warning.
Hope's face fills the frame, pale and tear-streaked, her dark blonde hair tangled around her cheeks.
Her eyes are wide and red-rimmed, darting somewhere off-screen like she is watching someone just beyond the camera's view.
“Sage,” she repeats, her voice cracking around my name. Her hands shake as she lifts a crumpled piece of paper into view. The edges are torn, and the writing scrawled across it looks hurried, almost violent. “I have to read this. Please just listen.”
My heart pounds so hard I can hear it in my skull, a drumbeat that drowns out everything else. I force myself to breathe and stay upright when every instinct tells me to collapse.
“I’m listening,” I assure her, keeping my voice as calm as I can manage. “I’m right here.”
She glances at the paper, her lips moving silently as if rehearsing the words before she speaks them aloud. Her shoulders hunch inward, making her look smaller than she is. My little sister, who used to laugh too loudly and steal my clothes without asking, now looks like a shadow of herself.
“You have to come alone,” she reads, her voice trembling with each syllable. “If you bring anyone, if you tell Luka, or if you call the police, I will die.”
Her words crash into me, digging into my chest so firmly that I can hardly breathe. I grip the side of the bed with my free hand, bracing myself against something solid.
“Hope,” I interject, trying to cut through the script she is reading. “Are you hurt? Did they—”
“Please,” she interrupts, her voice breaking completely. “Just let me finish.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood, and nod even though she can’t see me clearly through her tears.
She continues, her words rushed and uneven. “You have one hour. There is an address. It’s an old warehouse near the docks marked number three. The building has a green door on the south side. You have to come through that door. One hour, Sage. If you are late, or you bring help, I die.”
Her voice breaks on the last word, and she drops the paper. It flutters out of frame. Her hands come up to cover her face, and she sobs, the sound ragged and raw.
“No,” I whisper, my throat closing around the word. “No, please, I’m coming. I’m coming right now. Just hold on.”
The screen goes black as the call ends abruptly, the sudden silence louder than her sobs. I stare at the phone, willing it to ring again to let me hear her voice one more time. But the screen stays dark.
My hands shake so hard I nearly drop the phone. I clutch it tighter, my nails digging into the case, and push myself to my feet. The room tilts sideways for a second before righting itself. My legs feel unsteady, my knees threatening to give out, but I force them to hold me.
“Luka,” I gasp, turning toward the door. “I need Luka.”
I stumble into the hallway, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood. The cold seeps into my soles, but I don’t stop to put on shoes. I run, my breath coming in short bursts, my vision tunneling until all I see is the corridor ahead of me.
“Luka!” I shout, my voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Luka, where are you?”
No answer.
I reach the main staircase and take the steps two at a time, gripping the railing to keep from falling. My chest burns, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I reach the second floor, I spin in a circle, searching for any sign of him.
The library is empty. The sitting room beyond it is empty. The study where he sometimes works late into the night is dark and silent. I know he’s not here, yet some desperate part of my mind is hoping he’ll appear in a doorway and pull me back from this rising panic.
I call out for him again. A maid steps out from a side hallway, her expression pinched with concern as she asks if I am alright, and when I press her for Luka’s whereabouts, she tells me he’s not here. I ask where he went, but she only shakes her head and explains that she doesn’t know.
I pull out my phone and dial his number with unsteady fingers. The screen glows in the dim light. The call connects, then goes straight to voicemail. His voice fills my ear, calm and detached, instructing me to leave a message.
I hang up and dial again. Voicemail again.
“No,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “No, no, no.”
I try Misha next. Voicemail. Then Kolya. Voicemail. Every number I have stored in my phone leads to the same automated response. They’re all gone. All of them. Luka must have taken his men somewhere, a meeting or operation that pulled them away from the house at the worst possible moment.
I stand in the center of the foyer, clutching my phone, and feel the walls close in around me.
The staff moves through distant rooms, their footsteps muffled, and their conversations too quiet to hear.
They can’t help me. They’re not trained for this.
They’re here to clean and cook and maintain the illusion of normalcy, not to storm warehouses or negotiate with kidnappers.
I’m alone. The thought slams into me. I’m alone, and Hope is running out of time.