Page 14 of Sage Haven
A reminder.
I stood there for a long moment, unmoving, letting the cold bite of morning air settle against my skin. There was a pureness to it. Something crisp and clean that loosened the mess inside me.
Sometimes I let myself believe that this place held something sacred.
As if the land itself was capable of forgiving.
As if absolution was something more than a story, we told ourselves to sleep at night.
I wanted to believe it was possible. That redemption was waiting somewhere just over the ridge. That I could move forward.
But belief had never been my strong suit.
The house behind me stood like a fortress, perched on the edge of the mountain, almost invisible to anyone who didn’t already know where to look. It sat nestled inside an old part of the nature reserve that few ever ventured into unless they had a reason. It was a secret tucked in and hidden into the folds of the landscape.
Like my home. Like my life.
Seclusion was a comfort we’d learned young.
My brother, Castor, and I knew the value of shadows. We understood the danger of being seen.
Although Castor had a girlfriend now.
One who asked too many questions.
I had warned him—more than once. The risks of curiosity. The weight of knowing. The less people involved, and the cleaner things stayed. The fewer questions asked and the fewer answers we were forced to give.
I exhaled slowly, my breath a thin mist in the cold air, and watched the sunrise as it spread across the horizon. The sky was streaked with amber and gold, the kind of beauty that felt unearned.
And then I saw it.
A glint.
Sharp and Sudden.
Something caught the light, flashing just enough to pull my attention from the horizon and snap it to the far side of the river.
A striking figure stood there.
Crouched among the wildflowers.
Delicate fingers plucked one from the earth as if it was a sacred thing.
A woman.
I watched her carefully, instincts tightening.
She wasn’t from town.
I would have known.
In towns as small as this, everyone knew everyone.
But her?
She was a mystery.
An unknown.
