Chapter 11
SAGE
My routine had spiraled completely out of control since the festival.
Everything I’d built—the carefully ordered days, the rituals that once kept me grounded—was unraveling like frayed threads slipping through my fingers.
I’d tried. I really had.
I’d taken Sam’s advice. Told myself to slow down. Take it easy. Breathe.
But the longing inside me refused to loosen its grip. It only sank deeper, winding itself through every thought, filling up the hollow spaces I had fought so hard to keep empty.
And it wasn’t restlessness.
Not really.
It was sharper than that.
A gnawing ache for something more.
More than routine.
More than the hollow predictability I’d convinced myself was safety and now, I was starting to see it for what it was.
I hadn’t been protecting myself.
I’d been hiding.
Mistaking comfort for stability.
Mistaking numbness for peace.
I’d carved out this careful version of myself and locked myself inside it. Told myself I needed control. That surviving was enough.
But I was wrong and all I could feel was the burn of that realization.
The irony of it.
This life I thought I’d built to keep me safe had become a prison.
And I was the one holding the key.
Me.
I didn’t know why I did that.
Why I’d spent so long folding myself into the smallest version of who I was.
Especially when I had always dreamed of something bigger.
Wilder.
Outside these walls of normalcy. Even when it was dangerous.
Even when it hurt.
I wanted a life with purpose. To wake up with a fire I couldn’t smother. A hunger that pulled me toward something, instead of always running away.
But since I’d moved here, that dream had thinned into a mirage.
Always close enough to see.
Never close enough to touch.
At the festival, just for a moment, I thought I felt it.
That pulse of possibility.
The music in the air, the blur of lights, the way strangers laughed like they belonged to each other.
I thought maybe I could belong too.
But the feeling slipped through me like smoke, and I’d been chasing it ever since.
I kept hoping it would find me.
That one day, it would just… happen.
That something would click into place and make it all make sense.
But hope like that is dangerous.
It keeps you waiting.
And the longer I waited, the heavier the ache became.
I was stuck.
Caught between the safety of predictability and the pull of something wild I couldn’t name.
And maybe the question wasn’t whether I was ready.
Maybe the question was:
What was I still so afraid of?
***
That afternoon, the sun hung low on the horizon. Dragging the day out, stretching the light thin before the dark came. The sky was bruised with color—soft golds bleeding into purples and oranges.
I watched it from my window for too long.
Fingers restless.
Heart pounding in my ears, and then I moved, because if I didn’t, I would implode.
I followed the pull.
Out the door. Through the trees. To the field.
The air buzzed with life.
Fireflies floated around me, tiny stars flickering in the growing dark.
Their light was delicate, faint and beautiful, like something that could easily be dimmed.
I took a breath, letting it expand in my lungs.
For a moment, the world slowed.
I smiled softly, my fingers brushing the tops of the wildflowers as I passed.
I had never come to the field this late.
Never this close to night, but I was glad I did.
It wasn’t part of my routine and that was the point.
The risk made me feel alive.
The danger of the woods at night—
The memories it stirred—
They didn’t scare me in the same way anymore.
They made me feel something and I was tired of feeling nothing for so long.
I let myself wander deeper.
Drawn to the flowers swaying in the wind, their colors vivid even in the low nightlight.
They stretched toward me like an invitation.
I bent down, gathering them slowly.
Gentle and careful, as if I was afraid that they might vanish if I wasn’t.
The sound of crickets filled the air.
Soft and constant, like a lullaby spun from the hush between breaths.
I closed my eyes. Let myself just be there.
Let myself exist.
But it was only for a brief moment, because suddenly I felt like I wasn’t alone like I thought I was.
I could feel it, even though I couldn’t quite see it yet.
The unmistakable weight of being watched.
The air started to shift.
Colder and Thicker.
And I knew.
I didn’t need to turn.
I knew it was him coming from behind me.
Reich.
A towering silhouette framed in twilight.
And every nerve in my body lit up.
My breath hitched in my throat.
I froze, but not from fear, from something else.
Something that didn’t make sense to me.
He closed the distance between us slowly.
Deliberate steps. Giving me time to run. To step away.
But it was almost as if he knew I wouldn’t.
And I knew it too.
My pulse raced in anticipation; each beat harder than the last as my peripheral caught his hand that lifted from behind me.
Before I could react, fingers ghosted along the frame of my cheek.
Feather-light.
I leaned in, breath catching, even as I told myself not to.
And I let his touch drift lower.
Down the curve of my arm over its skin that prickled in response to him.
His hands continued to drift, as I stood frozen, while his fingertips brushed the bouquet of wildflowers I had in my hands.
He held them with me for what felt like a heartbeat too long.
Like he was weighing its worth or mine.
He leaned in.
His breath warm against my ear and his voice low and commanding, “You shouldn’t take what isn’t yours.”
The words hit me hard causing a shiver to chase itself down my spine.
Not just because of what he said.
But because he was here.
In this field.
At this time.
Why?
Then it slammed into me hard.
I was trespassing.
I tried to save face when the realization hit, “I—” I stammered.
But his voice cut through me, as sharp as a fresh blade. “Stay away, Sage.”
He said my name like it meant something.
Like it burned his tongue.
But his hand on mine told a different story.
A little too tight and too reluctant to let go.
“I didn’t know,” I whispered. “I thought this was part of the preserve. The flowers… they’re beautiful. I wasn’t trying to—”
“Leave.”
Cold. Final.
I swallowed hard. “Why are you being like this?”
My voice was thin. Barely holding. “I’m just trying to explain—”
“Because I don’t care.”
His voice— his voice cut deeper than I expected.
I sucked in a sharp breath, the bouquet trembling in my hands.
I gripped it tighter like it could anchor me.
Like it could hold me together but then—he caught my jaw.
Fingers strong, steady, bringing my face to his. Firm. Unyielding.
My pulse skipped as his eyes darkened, trapping me there and locking me in place.
His other hand drifted lower, brushing my wrist.
Barely a touch. Too light to be restraint but far too deliberate to ignore.
He was testing me.
So, I lifted my chin.
Refusing to shrink away.
Refusing to break.
His grip tightened, just enough to make me gasp.
“You need to leave,” he said. “I’m not asking.”
A seriousness laced within his tone and that told me he wasn’t playing games.
I should have run right then, but I didn’t, because I needed to have the final say.
I stood there, locked in his storm, unable to pull away.
I didn’t want to leave.
I wanted to stand my ground and call his bluff.
Instead, I exhaled shakily, and whispered, “Be careful what you ask for, Reich.”
His name on my lips like it was something forbidden.
His jaw clenched with a smirk across his face and fingers flexing at his sides.
Then— Softer. Rougher, he replied, “You too, Sage.”
He loosened his grip at that point and when the space between us shattered, I ran.
The bouquet slipped from my fingers in the process.
Forgotten.
When I looked back, he was gone, everything how it was, except the wildflowers that now scattered over the field like broken pieces of myself left behind.
***
By the time I reached home, my lungs burned.
My heart thundered, but it wasn’t fear.
It was something else.
Something I couldn’t name.
I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.
His voice still echoed in my mind.
His touch still burned on my skin.
And I hated how much I cared that it was there.
How I didn’t want it to go away, and how much I wanted more.
I told myself I wouldn’t go back.
I wouldn’t be that girl. I wouldn’t be reckless.
Then, I couldn’t stop remembering.
His voice. His hands. The look in his eyes.
Like he was destined to break me or save me.
Maybe both.
I should be afraid. I should stay away.
But fear and desire?
They live too close together inside me, and I didn’t want to run.
I wanted him to chase me.