Page 54 of Sacrifice
Everything shifts—his posture, his energy, from date to soldier in a heartbeat.
"Stay here."
"But—"
"Stay. Here."
He approaches the door carefully, nudging it open with his foot.
The apartment is dark, too quiet.
He disappears inside, and I count heartbeats, each one lasting forever.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five?—
"Saga!" His voice is different—urgent, afraid. "Call 911. Now!"
I'm moving before I process it, fumbling for my phone as I enter.
The living room is destroyed—furniture overturned, pictures smashed, papers everywhere.
My vintage record player is in pieces.
The couch where Emil slept that night is slashed open, stuffing spilling out like guts.
But that's not what makes my blood freeze.
It's Elfe on the kitchen floor, blood pooling under her head, clothes torn.
"Oh God. Oh God, Elfe!" I drop beside her, hands shaking as I dial. "Is she?—"
"She's breathing." Emil's checking her pulse, his movements efficient. "Steady but weak. Don't move her."
"911, what's your emergency?"
"My roommate—someone broke in—she's hurt, there's blood—" I can't get the words out fast enough.
Emil takes the phone, rattling off our address and Elfe's condition.
I focus on her face, so pale against the dark floor.
Her hair is so soaked with blood that it almost looks black.
"Elfe? Can you hear me? It's Saga. You're going to be okay."
Her eyelids flutter but don't open.
There's a gash on her forehead, bruises already forming on her arms.
Her shirt is ripped at the shoulder, and I can't—I can't think about what that might mean.
There are defensive wounds on her hands, like she fought back.
"Who did this?" I whisper. "Why would someone?—"
"They were looking for you," Emil says quietly. "This was about you."
"How do you know?"
