Page 59 of Sacrifice
Besides my bike, there's my truck and a classic Chevelle I've been restoring.
Tools line one wall, everything in its place.
"Home sweet fortress," I confirm, leading her to the elevator. Another biometric scan, another keypad. "Security's a little much, but?—"
"It's perfect." She leans against the elevator wall, eyes closed. "I don't think I've ever wanted 'a little much' security more than right now."
The elevator opens directly into my loft.
I disabled the call buttons for the other floors—anyone wants to visit, they better be invited.
Saga steps out slowly, taking it in.
Three thousand square feet of converted warehouse space.
Exposed brick walls, steel beams across the ceiling, polished concrete floors.
The main area is open concept—kitchen with industrial appliances, living room with leather furniture, dining space I never use.
Floor-to-ceiling windows line one wall, tinted so no one can see in.
"This is not what I expected," she says, moving further inside.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Beer posters and a mattress on the floor? Maybe some milk crates for furniture?"
"That hurts." I lock down the elevator, activate the security system. "I have excellent taste in beer posters."
She doesn't smile, but some tension leaves her shoulders.
She wanders toward the windows, looking out at the city lights. "How long have you lived here?"
"Four years, I would come back when I was on a break, between tours. Bought it when I got back from my last deployment." I move to the kitchen, needing something to do with my hands. "Water? Something stronger?"
"Stronger. Definitely stronger."
I pour two whiskeys, the good stuff from the top shelf.
She deserves better than bottom-shelf comfort tonight.
Joining her by the windows, I hand her the glass.
She takes hers gratefully, downing half in one swallow.
The city sprawls below us, lights twinkling like stars.
From up here, it looks peaceful. Deceptive.
"Easy," I caution.
"I can still smell her blood." Her voice is hollow. "I scrubbed and scrubbed, but I can still..."
"That'll fade. Takes time, but it fades."
"Voice of experience?"
"Yeah."
