Prologue #2
I lay on my childhood bed staring at the ceiling fan as it ticked useless circles above me, my phone clutched in my hand like it might bite. Every time a car passed outside, my heart jumped.
By morning, my nerves were shredded down to wire.
Mom tried to make me eggs. I couldn’t eat. Coffee tasted like ash. I paced from the living room to the kitchen and back again, wearing a groove into the hardwood.
“She said Seth would handle it,” Mom said gently, watching me spiral. “That means someone was there. That’s good.”
“That’s not good,” I muttered. “Nothing about this is good.”
I waited until noon.
Then one.
Then two.
Finally, at three, I couldn’t take the silence anymore.
I stepped out onto the back porch, the cold biting through my sweater, and called Ethan.
He answered immediately.
“What?” he said.
Not sharp. Not angry.
Just… wrecked.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I just— I needed to know if you’re okay.”
There was a long exhale on the other end. Wind. Airport noise.
“I’m not,” he said honestly. “But I will be.”
My stomach dropped. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer right away. I could hear him moving—footsteps, a bag shifting, the hollow echo of a terminal.
“Seth went over last night,” he said finally. “He told her he was house-sitting. Checking the mail. Tried to keep it calm.”
I pressed my back against the railing, bracing myself.
“She didn’t buy it,” he continued. “She was already completely spun. House was wrecked, Beth. Water everywhere. Firepit still smoking. She was soaked, barefoot, wearing my flannel like it was armor. She must’ve had a key made. Stole the spare and did it all while I was none the wiser.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I could see it too clearly.
“She started screaming at him,” Ethan said. “Accusing him of covering for me. Saying I sent him to spy. She kept saying, ‘He’ll be back any minute. He told me he’d forgive me.’”
My chest tightened painfully.
“Seth told her to leave,” he went on. “She refused. Said she didn’t break in. Said she had a key. Told him she could prove it.”
“She does,” I whispered.
“I know,” Ethan said flatly. “She made copies. I didn’t realize until now.”
My hands started shaking again.
“She went for him,” he said quietly. “Not with a weapon. Just… lost it. Tried to shove past him. Slapping, scratching, screaming. Seth had to restrain her.”
“Oh my God.”
“She bit him,” Ethan added. “Drew blood.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth, nausea rolling hard.
“He pinned her on the floor and called the cops,” Ethan said. “He didn’t want to. But she was out of control. And the neighbors had already called about smoke.”
I slid down until I was sitting on the porch steps, my legs giving out beneath me.
“So,” I whispered, dread pooling thick and heavy in my gut, “the police came.”
“Yes.”
“And…?” My voice barely worked.
“She was arrested.”
The world seemed to tilt sideways.
“She— she got arrested?” I repeated stupidly.
“Yes, Beth.”
I stared at the peeling paint on the porch railing, my vision tunneling.
“She can’t afford bail,” he continued. “She maxed everything out. I’m flying back now to deal with the house, insurance, lawyers. It’s a mess.”
A laugh bubbled up out of nowhere—thin, hysterical.
“She’s going to think I did this,” I said.
Ethan was quiet for a beat. Then: “She already does.”
Ice slid straight down my spine.
“She asked Seth who called me,” he said. “He didn’t answer. But she knows you were there that night. She knows you talk to me.”
My heart began pounding so hard it hurt.
“I didn’t call the cops,” I said, tears burning hot behind my eyes. “I swear to God I didn’t.”
“I know,” he said. “But she won’t care.”
My thoughts started racing—work, my mom, my apartment, my car, every secret Sage had ever helped me with or held for me.
“She’s going to come after me,” I whispered.
“I won’t let her,” Ethan said firmly. “I’m filing a restraining order. Against her. For both of us if you want.”
That should’ve comforted me.
It didn’t.
Because I knew Sage.
Restraints, consequences, jail—those weren’t deterrents.
They were fuel.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again, because I didn’t know what else to say.
“You did the right thing,” he replied. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
We hung up.
I stayed on the steps long after the call ended, arms wrapped around myself, shaking despite the cold.
Somewhere deep in my chest, beneath the guilt and fear and grief for the friendship I’d just burned to the ground, a single, terrifying truth settled in:
This wasn’t over.
Sage didn’t lose.
She kept score.
And now?
I was on the list.
The phone rang at 9:47 p.m.
I knew it before I even looked.
My phone was face-down on the coffee table, but my body reacted instantly — heart slamming, skin going cold, breath locking in my chest. I stared at it like it was a live grenade.
Mom looked up from the couch. “Beth?”
I didn’t answer.
The phone buzzed again. Harder this time. Angry.
I flipped it over.
SAGE CALLING
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“If you don’t answer,” Mom said quietly, “she’ll get worse.”
She was right. Sage didn’t disappear when ignored. She escalated.
My hands were slick with sweat as I picked up the phone. I closed my eyes, drew in a slow breath, and told myself the truth I didn’t want to hear.
Sometimes the only way out is straight through.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a low, broken laugh.
“Don’t play stupid with me, Beth.”
Ice slid straight down my spine.
“Sage… I don’t understand what’s happening. I haven’t talked to Ethan.”
She laughed again — sharp, brittle, wrong.
“Liar.”
“I swear,” I said quickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t called him. I haven’t done anything.”
Another pause. Then her voice shifted — syrupy, almost reasonable.
“You know what does make sense?” she said. “That Seth showed up.”
I swallowed hard.
“He’s local,” I said, seizing the opening. “He helps Ethan with the house. When renters book it on Craigslist, when stuff breaks — he’s basically the handyman. The super. So yeah, it makes sense that he was there. He probably called Ethan and Ethan told him you shouldn’t be there.”
I rushed the words out, afraid to leave space.
“I had nothing to do with it, Sage. Nothing.”
She didn’t answer right away.
When she did, she was smiling.
“I know you moved back in with your mom,” she said softly.
My stomach dropped.
“I helped you get that new job, remember?” she went on. “Your résumé. Your cover letter. I rewrote half of it. Who was one of your references again?”
My pulse thundered in my ears.
“Me.”
Her laughter exploded — wild, manic, echoing.
“I just got out of jail, bitch,” she cackled. “My other friends posted bail. I knew better than to call you.”
My vision blurred.
“I got charged with felonies, Beth,” she screeched. “Felonies! Which means I’m getting fired. Which means I won’t be able to get another job. Do you know what that does to someone like me?”
“Sage, please—”
“You ruined my life!” she screamed. “You ruined my life, Beth! This is your fault!”
“No,” I sobbed. “I love you. You’re my best friend. I was scared for you. I just want to help you. Please — let me help you. We can find you a counselor. I’ll be there for you—”
“I am NOT crazy!” she shrieked. “You’re the problem. You always were.”
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone, chest heaving, my whole body shaking.
Something had changed.
This wasn’t rage anymore.
This was certainty.
I looked up at Mom. “We need to change all the locks. Tonight.”
Her face tightened. “Why?”
“She’s slept over here,” I said. “She knows where the spare key is.”
A memory surfaced — sharp, sickening.
“That’s how she got into Ethan’s house,” I whispered. “She makes copies. She always has.”
Another memory followed. Then another.
The missing twenty dollars.
The overdrafts that never quite made sense.
The summer nights — drunk, laughing, carefree — Sage standing too close at the ATM, watching my fingers punch in my PIN.
My stomach churned.
What if she took my card?
What if she was pulling cash while I slept?
What if I was never careless — just blind?
It all clicked into place with nauseating clarity.
I grabbed my coat.
“I’m closing my bank account,” I said. “Tonight.”
I did it all in a blur.
Closed the account. Opened a new one. New PIN. New cards.
Then Verizon.
New number.
I emailed my new boss, fingers trembling as I typed something vague about switching plans and updating contact info. He hesitated. Asked one question.
I answered casually.
He let it go.
But I knew.
Sage knew where I worked.
She knew my boss’s name.
She knew the company.
Tuesday was my first day.
And for the first time since Sage had blown into my life like a wildfire and called it love, I understood the truth with terrifying clarity:
She didn’t regret what she’d done.
And she wasn’t finished.
I turned off the lights, checked the locks again, and stood at the window, watching the street like someone might already be out there.
Waiting.