Chapter 46 REICH
REICH
She collapsed into me, weightless and fragile—as if the last thin threads of her endurance had finally snapped, unraveling with nothing left to hold her upright.
Her body pressed against mine, thin and trembling, as if the effort to stand, to breathe, to exist, had drained every ounce of her strength.
I felt the shallow rise and fall of her chest against me, the sharp, uneven shudders of her breath, the tremor that never seemed to leave her muscles.
She sagged into me like something hollowed out—as if even gravity had lost its claim on her.
I couldn’t believe it. She was alive. Against all odds. We found her. She was here.
Breathing.
It was enough to break me.
Relief hit like a sucker punch—violent, unforgiving and sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs.
My knees gave out before I could stop them.
I sank to the damp concrete, the room swallowing us whole, my arms locking around her with a ferocity I couldn't temper.
I held her like she might dissolve in my hands, like something precious and irreplaceable. Like something I was too late to protect.
And maybe I was.
Maybe I always had been.
She’d only been gone twenty-four hours.
One rotation of the earth.
One day.
But when I looked at her—at the pale stretch of her skin, the deep bruises blooming along her throat and wrists, the distant emptiness in her eyes—it was like she’d been gone for a lifetime.
Like a ghost wandering back into a body that didn’t fit anymore.
She wasn’t just lost.
She was gone.
And yet, she was still breathing.
Somehow.
Her pulse fluttered beneath my fingertips, faint but steady.
I pressed my palm flat against her spine, anchoring her to me, whispering silent pleas I wasn’t even sure who I was begging—God, fate, the universe, myself.
Please let her stay.
Please let me fix this.
I tucked her closer. Tighter.
My cheek rested against the crown of her head, breathing her in. The faint scent of blood and cold sweat. And beneath it—her.
The smallest trace of her.
Still there.
Still fighting.
Even if she didn’t believe it anymore.
“You’re so smart, Sage,” I murmured into her hair, the words rasping out like broken glass. “And you’re so damn strong.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the sting in my throat.
For a long moment, she was still. Too still.
I was about to say her name again, louder, when she stirred. The faintest shift of her lashes. A breath—a real one—caught in her throat. And then her eyes opened.
And they found mine in the dark.
They hollowed me out and made me whole all at once.
The Sage I knew had eyes full of wildfire.
But now?
Now they were a storm cloud heavy with rain, dark and endless.
But they were open. She was here. And for now, that was enough.
For a heartbeat—just one—we said nothing.
But there was something between us.
Something louder than words.
A silent thing that pressed into the empty space where language failed.
And I felt it, like a pulse under the skin.
Like the moment before lightning splits the sky.
I wanted to stay there. To live inside that moment and to let time freeze so I could hold her like this forever.
But nothing good ever stays.
And it didn’t now.
Keenan’s voice broke through the haze, sharp and barking orders.
And then they were there.
The paramedics.
Too quick. Too loud. Too much.
I barely heard what they said.
I barely saw them. I only felt her.
Her hands clutching at my jacket, her fingers digging in, desperate and terrified as they tried to pull her away.
She shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks, wide-eyed and pleading.
“Don’t,” she mouthed. “No.”
Her voice cracked on that single syllable, but it was enough to gut me.
My throat burned as I let them take her.
As I gave her to them.
It felt like betrayal.
But I knew.
I knew she needed them more than she needed me.
And still—it ripped me apart that I couldn’t be everything for her.
I watched them work.
Hands efficient, practiced.
I watched her flinch at every touch. Watched her fight to stay in her skin. Watched her slip away, inch by inch.
And I hated myself.
Because I had done this.
I had failed her. I had let this happen. And I wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive me for it.
Hell, I wasn’t sure I’d forgive myself.
We took her home. Back to the house. Back to the place she’d fought like hell to make her own again.
But it didn’t matter.
Because even though the house was too quiet, she was quieter.
She didn’t speak.
Not to me. Not to Sam or Castor. Not to the paramedics when they checked on her again the next morning.
She laid in bed, unmoving.
Her body curled toward the wall, her back to the world.
A hollow shell. Trapped. Gone.
Sam tried but Sage gave her nothing.
Not defiance. Not a fight. Just silence.
Castor hovered in the doorway. Said her name once. Offered to be there if she needed him and then never again.
I watched her fade.
Day by day.
And I knew.
Soon she would start hiding behind a mask again. Soon she would build her walls higher. And this time, I wasn’t sure I could tear them down.
Two days passed and I stood outside her door again. Like a fucking ghost.
A bowl in my hands. Soup.
Because I didn’t know what else to do.
A bitter laugh scraped out of me as I remember being in this exact same position not too long ago, begging her to eat.
“Some things never change,” I murmured to myself.
I took a breath.
And then another.
And I pushed the door open.
She was curled in the corner.
Not on the bed, just on the floor. Like she wanted to disappear into it.
Her arms wrapped tight around her legs.
Her head tucked down.
And the second the door clicked shut I watched as she flinched.
As if I’d struck her. As if she was bracing for it.
I nearly fell apart.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not now.
“It’s okay,” I said softly.
The words floated between us, brittle and raw.
I set the plate down.
And I knelt beside her.
Close enough that I could hear the hitch in her breath. See the sheen of tears she hadn’t let fall yet.
She didn’t look at me at first. Just a flicker of her gaze, peeking over her knees.
Cautious. Guarded. Hollow.
“Sage.” Her name was a plea on my tongue. “You need to eat.”
Her lips trembled. And when she spoke, it was a whisper, “I can’t.”
I reached out slowly. Brushed the hair from her face. My fingers were gentle but firm.
I needed her to feel this. To know she was still here.
“Sage… don’t make me beg.”
Her hands shook. Her breath came faster. I saw the panic tightening around her like a vice.
I didn’t think just pulled her into me. Held her tight. Anchored her against my chest.
“Breathe,” I whispered against her temple. Soft. Steady.
“I can’t,” she choked.
“Yes, you can,” I said, “With me, you can.”
She flinched at the sound of my voice. But she didn’t pull away. And I held on.
I wasn’t letting her slip.
“Please?” A beg now. “If you won’t do it for you… will you do it for me?”
Something cracked. The faintest shift in her walls. A single tear slid down her cheek.
And I caught it with my thumb. Soft. Reverent.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
It almost undid me.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Let it linger. Let it mean something.
I reached for the soup. Settled in beside her and lifted the spoon to her lips.
She hesitated.
Her eyes were sharp, almost defiant.
She hated this.
Hated needing. Hated feeling weak.
But she took it.
And when she swallowed— I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear, “Good girl.”
Her breath caught.
And then—the ghost of a smile.
Small. Fragile. But there.
“How are you feeling today?” I asked quietly.
Her gaze dropped. Sadness pooling in the hollow of her expression, “I’m not sure how to survive today.”
The words gutted me.
I swallowed hard, “What do you mean?”
Her voice was raw.
“I’m still in that room, Reich. Even when I’m here. Even when you’re holding me. It doesn’t go away. I don’t know if it ever will.”
She paused before continuing, “I don’t know if enduring this is worth it.”
It hurt but I wouldn’t let her drown.
I tipped her chin up. Forced her to look at me. Made her see.
“It is worth it, Sage.” I took a breath. “Because tomorrow always comes. And tomorrow is always a new today. New chances. New choices.”
I ran my thumb along her cheek, “Sometimes, it even brings wildflowers.”
She stared at me.
Silent. Tear-filled. But something shifted.
“Let today be what it is,” I whispered. “Chaos and all. But remember that tomorrow is coming.”
Her breath shuddered. But then she finally leaned into me. Her body shaking. Her tears falling as I held her.
Ran my fingers through her hair. Grounded her in something real.
She wasn’t okay.
Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.
But she was still here.
And for now that was enough.