Page 27 of Sage Haven
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The festival was sprawling. Massive tents and stages rose out of the hills built for chaos and sound.
Four stages.
Four worlds.
Folk and country to the left—acoustic melodies floating on the breeze like smoke. R&B and rap nearby—bass heavy and thrumming, every beat a pulse in my bones. An emerging artists’ stage set far off to the right, full of raw voices and electric hope.
And at the center, towering over everything else, the main stage.
The reason we were here.
Point North. Archers. Nerv. Traceless.
Names that had lived in my playlists and headphones for years. The thought of hearing them live sent a thrill racing down my spine.
Sam and I linked arms and plunged into the crowd. Everywhere I looked, people were alive with the kind of reckless joy I’d only ever envied from afar. Neon lights flashed in dizzying arcs against the darkening sky, painting us in streaks of all different colors.
As we made our way to our viewing spot, Sam called out to me over her shoulder, as she let go of my arm, “Hold tight! I’m grabbing drinks. Might even indulge a little on the way back.” Then she winked and disappeared into the crush of people.
I stood there, alone but not lonely, knowing my friend would return soon.
My gaze drifted over the crowd, watching strangers laugh and dance, when I felt it.
Eyes on me.
I turned and found him easily.
Sun-kissed skin. Beachy blonde hair. A surfer-boy smile that seemed perfectly at home in this chaos. His aura was relaxed, easy in a way that felt practiced.
He closed the distance between us, moving with the confidence of someone who had never been told no.
“You’re absolutely stunning,” he said, like it was fact. Like he wasn’t used to his words being questioned.
“Thank you,” I replied automatically. “That’s sweet of you.”
He chuckled, a warm, practiced sound.
“You shouldn’t be shy,” he said, eyes sweeping over me. “Most of these women don’t hold a candle to you.”
Before I could respond, he held out a drink.
A vibrant purple concoction in a clear plastic cup.
“It’s our special mix,” he said. “We make it at tailgate parties. Here…it should help.”
I hesitated.
My fingers brushed the side of the cup as I took it.
It smelled sweet, fruity, harmless, but something in my gut twisted tight.
My past’s ghost whispered in my ear. A lesson I thought I’d already learned. I had promised myself—never again. Never take a drink from a stranger.
But I didn’t want to make a scene.
So, I smiled and took the drink.
