Page 22 of Sage Haven
The river carving its restless line through the valley floor. The lake catching the light like a glass reflection and across the water to the field of wildflowers.
Beautiful.
Deceptive.
I hadn’t stood out here in days. Maybe even weeks.
But I knew she had.
That woman.
The trespasser.
Every morning, without fail, she emerged from the trees on the far side of the valley.
At first, I thought it was a fluke. A random hiker who’d strayed too far.
Until it happened again. Andagain.
Then eventually, I knew her routine as well as I knew my own.
I’d been watching her.
Not directly—not yet.
But through the lenses of the surveillance cameras mounted discreetly in the trees.
Their daily feeds kept on repeat would glow faintly on the monitors in my study when sleep wouldn’t come.
I observed her movements.
Kept track of them.
She always paused at the edge of the field, standing still like she was drinking it in, committing the view to memory. Then she would settle down, sitting cross-legged in the grass with a book in hand, thumbing through the pages while the wind tangled her hair. When she finished her books, whether it was reading or writing, she wandered among the wildflowers, plucking a few before tucking them carefully into the pages she brought with her.
She never stayed longer than an hour.
Never deviated from her schedule.
Precise and predictable.
Too predictable.
But there was something about her… something that held me captive.
Her quiet presence. Her solitude.
The way she existed so completely within herself, untouched by the world that had ruined the rest of us. It was a strange kind of comfort and something more.
Something I didn’t dare to name.
Something I didn’t trust because it was foreign.
I didn’t know if it was how she truly was or if it was merely a mask she hid behind.
Though if it was a mask, she wore it damn well.
I found myself waiting for her to appear on the cameras, even when I didn’t have the time to see for myself.
