Chapter 41 SAGE
SAGE
The night before had felt like a dream—a dream I never thought I deserved, let alone one that could possibly be real.
But it was.
It had happened.
And the proof of it still clung to my skin.
I could still feel him.
His hands tracing every inch of me like he was mapping something he never wanted to lose.
His mouth claiming mine, his breath warm in the spaces where he whispered things, I didn’t know how to believe but wanted to.
With Reich, I had found something I hadn’t even known existed. A kind of happiness that didn’t just fill me, but completed me.
He wasn’t just someone.
He was everything I hadn’t realized I’d been aching for.
He slipped into the hollow spaces inside me with an ease that was terrifying.
Those empty places I’d long ago made peace with…he made them ache.
And then he made them full.
And for once in my life, I felt… whole.
Not the brittle, patched-together version I’d convinced myself was enough.
No.
Something real.
Something that felt alive.
I hadn’t known how hollow I was until he touched me.
Until he saw me.
And now that he had…I wasn’t sure I could survive being unseen again.
I had spent so long believing I was beyond saving.
That the fractures inside me were permanent, that the sharp edges would always cut anyone who came too close.
But then there was Reich.
And he didn’t flinch.
He didn’t pull away.
He reached for the shattered pieces and held them in his hands like they were precious.
Like they weren’t broken at all.
And suddenly, all the emptiness wasn’t something to mourn.
It was a space, like a blank canvas, waiting to be filled with something worthwhile.
And I was filled with him.
Every look.
Every touch.
Every dark, quiet truth he let slip past those guarded lips.
I loved every piece of him.
Even if I never got to say it aloud.
Even if he could never say it back.
Last night, I had seen more of Reich than I ever had before.
More than anyone, I suspected.
I saw the man beneath the control.
Beneath the steel walls.
Beneath the brutal precision.
I saw his fight.
His love for helping people.
His drive to keep them safe.
His guilt.
His war with something he didn’t talk about, something that lived in his bones and weighed him down in silence.
I wondered what it was.
What he carried.
What he thought he had to carry alone.
Was it some boss? His family? Or something deeper and older, clawing at the edges of his soul?
I didn’t know.
But I wanted to.
I wanted to know him.
Every fracture. Every fault line.
I wanted to trace his scars with my hands and tell him he was still beautiful.
Still whole.
And maybe—in finding him, I was finding myself, too.
For so long, I had existed in the shadows of my own life.
A ghost walking through the ruins of what had once been.
But now, it felt different.
The emptiness wasn’t a grave.
It was a beginning.
And I knew exactly where I needed to be.
I made my way toward the library, the sanctuary that had become something like holy ground to me.
Where the world quieted.
Where my mind could breathe.
Where I started to remember who I was before I was broken.
As I approached the heavy wooden doors, my fingertips brushed over the smooth grain, and a faint, wistful smile curved my lips.
This was where the healing had begun.
The music that once shattered me was now piecing me back together.
Every note a stitch.
Every lyric a thread pulling me tighter into something stronger.
Every melody telling me it was okay to feel again.
And here, in this room, I reclaimed pieces of myself I thought had been lost forever.
No longer broken.
No longer hollow.
Just…imperfect.
And somehow, that was enough.
My scars were proof.
Proof I had survived.
And there were things—so many things—that kept me going now.
Through music, I was never truly alone.
Every song whispered that I belonged somewhere.
Through the people in my life.
Sam. Castor. Reich.
I was reminded I was worth something.
More than my scars.
More than the pain I had lived through.
And through myself, I was still here.
And I was breathing.
Every single breath was proof.
I had made it.
Even when I hadn’t wanted to.
I wandered through the room, letting my fingertips graze the piano keys as I passed. The faintest sound trembled through the air, a single note breaking the silence.
And then I saw it.
Something sitting on the low table, right beside a half-burned candle.
A pad of paper and a stylus resting on top.
Something inside me stirred.
Something forgotten.
A part of me I had tucked away, locked in some dark drawer and convinced myself I didn’t need anymore.
Poetry.
Words had always been my sanctuary.
A place I could pour out the things I couldn’t say out loud.
A way to bleed safely.
And I realized that it had been years since I’d let myself write.
But today…today, I picked up the stylus and let my thoughts unfurl across the page like they’d been waiting for this moment all along.
My thoughts inhale you like second nature,
A whisper of fate, a silent wager.
So, I closed my eyes to escape what’s real,
Only to open them and begin to heal.
The scars I carried began to fade,
Softened by every promise we made.
Your hand in mine, steady and true,
Guiding me toward something new.
We spoke in silence, hearts aligned,
Leaving the weight of the past behind.
And in that stillness, clear and bright,
We found ourselves bathed in a light.
I stared at the words, feeling them settle inside me, soft and heavy.
They were messy.
Incomplete.
But they were mine.
For a moment, everything was still.
And then the quiet broke.
A creak echoed behind me.
Soft. Barely there.
But it was enough.
I froze, fingers tightening around the stylus.
The door was opening.
And for a breath, I smiled.
Reich.
I could already hear the sharp, clever remark he’d throw at me.
I could already feel the heat crawling up my throat as he made me laugh when I wasn’t supposed to.
But the air changed. The temperature dropped. And ice flooded my veins.
Something was wrong.
The footsteps were wrong.
Too heavy. Too fast.
Before I could turn—a hand tangled in my hair.
Fist tight.
And yanked me violently backward, tearing me from the chair with a force that ripped the breath from my lungs.
Pain exploded behind my eyes as my head snapped back.
The room spun. Bookshelves blurred. The table overturned with a crash, the candle shattering as it hit the floor.
I fought.
Kicked.
My nails clawed at unyielding flesh, scraping skin, feeling the sting of impact against my knuckles.
But it wasn’t enough.
I slammed into a bookshelf. Then the piano.
Pain lit up my ribs. My arms. My knees.
I tried to scream, but the air was gone.
My body scraped the hardwood, then the cold concrete.
I dug my heels into the floor.
I thrashed.
I didn’t stop fighting.
But then we reached the threshold.
The front door flew open, slamming against the wall.
And then, I was thrown.
Hard. Onto the gravel outside.
The air ripped from my lungs.
My palms scraped raw.
The sharp bite of stone tore at my skin.
I rolled, coughing, gasping for breath.
But there was no time.
A heavy boot crashed toward my face.
And the world went black.