Chapter 45 SAGE
SAGE
Darkness. Cold.
It pressed in from every side, seeping into my bones, stealing what little warmth I had left.
My body didn’t shiver anymore. It was beyond that.
Frozen. Numb.
Silent in a way that felt final.
This had to be it.
The end.
Surely, the universe knew I couldn’t take any more.
Surely, it understood that I wasn’t made to survive this.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t exist.
And maybe that was okay.
Maybe that was all I’d ever been meant for.
To fade away quietly. Forgotten.
To leave no trace. No echo. No mark.
I had fought.
And just when I thought I might have a chance at living again…just when I thought I might be free…my past came for me.
Surging back like a tidal wave of agony and blood and betrayal—crashing over me with the full weight of everything I had clawed my way out of.
Everything I had buried and pretended no longer existed.
But it was still there.
It had always been there.
I didn’t want to fight anymore.
I was done. I was ready to let go. To surrender. To die.
And I prayed for it.
I begged for it.
For an end. For release.
For something, anything, that would pull me under and hold me there.
Let me slip away before he comes back. Let me die before I have to endure it again.
But prayers were nothing more than whispers into the void.
And the universe didn’t care.
It never had.
The lid creaked open.
That sound…it was too sharp. Too real.
Like metal screaming against metal.
The frozen air peeled back with it, stealing what little warmth I had left.
I braced myself.
For the hands.
Except—there was something different this time.
A flash of silver, followed by a wet, choking gurgle.
And then—warmth.
Not the kind that brought comfort.
But the kind that sprayed across my skin, hot and slick and wrong.
I flinched, my eyes squeezing shut as something wet splattered against my cheek, sliding down in what I knew were crimson trails that I was too numb to wipe away.
I forced my eyes open.
I had to know.
Even if it was the last thing I saw.
But it wasn’t Klay’s face that loomed over me.
It wasn’t the monster I had braced for. It wasn’t the nightmare I had begged to avoid.
It was someone else.
A man.
Cold. Detached.
Like he had stepped out of some alternate universe I couldn’t comprehend.
There was no anger in him. No joy. Nothing. He was empty. And something about that terrified me more than Klay ever had.
He wiped the blood from his blade with methodical precision, smearing its red streaks across gloved fingers like it was routine. Like none of this mattered.
Like I didn’t matter.
And then—he turned.
No words. No acknowledgment.
As if I was nothing but debris in his path.
An afterthought. Forgettable. Insignificant.
I wanted to scream. To demand answers.
But my voice was gone.
I was gone.
I sat there, slumped in a frozen shell, a body too broken to move.
Then—movement.
A shadow at the edge of my vision.
Heavy footsteps, boots scraping against concrete.
I turned my head slowly.
Hugh.
I saw him.
And for a split second, something sparked in my chest.
Not hope. But panic. A pure, primal instinct.
The stranger didn’t see him. Didn’t know.
And I didn’t know how to tell him. How to warn him. How to stop what was coming.
But I looked at Hugh anyway.
I made myself look. Eyes locking on his. A silent signal. A plea I didn’t have words for.
Hugh lunged. Fast. But not fast enough.
The stranger was faster.
He turned without hesitation, his hand snapping out and closing around Hugh’s throat like a vise.
There was no warning. No struggle.
He slammed Hugh down with such brutal force that the sound cracked through the air like bone snapping in two.
A wet, choking sound followed.
Final.
And then… silence.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
I remained there, inside the cold metal of the freezer, my body beyond exhaustion. The cold seeping deeper. Into marrow. Into memory. Even if this was a rescue, it was too late.
I was too far gone.
I had already given up.
My mind had already checked out.
The stranger turned back to me.
Brow furrowed, his gaze sharp as it studied my face.
And he saw it. The hollow in my eyes. The quiet surrender.
And then—he spoke.
Two words. Soft. Like a ghost. "Thank you."
I blinked. Confused. The words didn’t make sense.
Who was he talking to? Me? Because of Hugh?
I didn’t have time to ask. Because then, there was another voice.
Another name.
"Reich!"
My breath stuttered. My heart stopped.
I knew that name. I knew it better than my own heartbeat.
And then he was there.
Reich.
But not the Reich I had always seen.
This Reich was different.
He wasn’t his typical collected self. He was stripped down. Raw. His face was carved from violence and ruin. His eyes wild and feral, gleaming with something I couldn’t name. He looked like a man who had lost everything—and was prepared to burn the world to get it back.
Blood coated his hands. Streaked his throat. Spattered across his chest like war paint. His eyes showed that he didn’t care. Not about that. Not about anything—except me.
He moved like a predator. But when he reached me—when his hands finally touched me—they were shaking.
He dropped to his knees, gathering me in his arms, as if afraid I’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful.
As if I were glass already cracked and he was trying to hold me together with his bare hands.
I collapsed against him, my frozen body melting into his heat.
His heartbeat thundered beneath my cheek.
A living, frantic drum.
Proof.
Proof that I wasn’t dead yet.
His fingers tangled in my hair, shaking as they cradled the back of my head.
I clung to him. Or maybe he clung to me. I couldn’t tell anymore.
“Sage,” he choked.
My name—It sounded like a prayer and a plea. All tangled into one broken breath.
I tried to speak. To tell him I was here. That I was okay. But the words wouldn’t come.
He shook his head.
“Don’t.”
His forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged and hot against my skin, “Just—don’t.”
And for once, I obeyed.
Because this wasn’t about just me anymore.
This was about him.
His arms tightened around me.
Like he could somehow fuse us together, if by holding me hard enough, he could pull me back from the edge.
Drag me out of whatever grave I had fallen into.
“You don’t get to leave me like this,” he said. His voice broke on the last word and cracked itself down the middle like a man with nothing left.
I let my body press deeper into his. Let his heat bleed into mine. Let the world fade around us.
And as I gasped against his chest, feeling his heart slam wild and desperate beneath my palm, one truth settled into me like gravity. Heavy. Inescapable.
I would never be able to count the number of times this man had saved me.
And I knew—I would never stop letting him.