Page 3 of Ranger’s Oath (Lone Star Wolf Rangers #5)

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue. That silence infuriates me more than words.

Days drag by. I try to go through the normal mechanics of life.

I get up, I shower, but the water scalds my skin too easily, every droplet a needle.

I change clothes again and again, nothing feels right.

I try reading a book, but the smell of ink makes me nauseous.

Television is worse—the sound is unbearable.

Finally, I sit on the floor, back against the French doors, knees drawn up, trying to control the wild thing inside me.

Cassidy hovers by the bedroom door. “Sadie, talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m grateful? That I forgive you?” My voice cracks into a harsh laugh. “I can’t. Not yet.”

“Then tell me you’ll fight,” she pleads. “Tell me you’ll fight to regain your life.”

I meet her eyes. “That’s the problem, Cass. It doesn't feel like any life I ever even imagined. It feels... I don't know, like something I'm not sure I want.”

"Then ask yourself this: would you rather be dead?"

Her eyes shine with tears, but I look away.

The next day blurs into another trial. My body thrums with restless energy that has nowhere to go.

Cassidy insists I stay inside for my safety.

I prowl the length of the suite, counting steps, touching the walls, testing the boundaries as if sheer determination might make them dissolve.

I hear conversations from the distant street below, the faint rattle of dishes being stacked somewhere in the kitchen, and a high, thin whine from the elevator cables that sounds like a piano wire tightening. It is unbearable and it sharpens me.

“Let me out,” I demand.

Cassidy blocks the door. “Not yet. You’re not ready.”

“Ready? I wasn't ready to be made into a freak. You don't get to make the rest of my decisions for me.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re my sister. And you nearly died. You’ll stay here until I say otherwise.”

Anger flares, raw and jagged. “So now I’m your pet project? Locked up until you approve?”

“Until I know you’re safe,” she snaps, then softens. “I can’t lose you, Sadie.”

The words twist inside me, equal parts love and chains.

I turn my back and return to my room, where I find the door onto the balcony is locked.Finally, I collapse onto the bed just as Cassidy follows me inside.

“Really, Cass? Locked doors onto the balcony? What, are you afraid I'll throw myself from your penthouse?"

"No. We're afraid you'll be seen. Right now, whoever was trying to kill you may believe you’re dead. You can bet they know you're my sister... more than that, the sister-in-law of the head of Team W. You could easily become a target."

She has a point, but I'm not willing to concede it. "Your penthouse has begun to feel like a prison.”

“It’s safe,” she insists.

“Safe is simply confinement with better sheets.”

The corner of her mouth lifts. “I’m trying, Sadie.”

“I know.” My voice cracks, betraying me. I swallow hard. “But you've changed my whole existence without asking. You stole my choice.”

Cassidy kneels beside me, brushing my hair back from my eyes. Her hand lingers, warm and steady. “I did, and I’d do it again. You're my sister. I love you, and if you look inside yourself you'll know you'd have done the same for me.”

She isn't wrong. The tears sting before I can stop them. I hate that she sees them. I hate that a part of me still clings to her touch like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to a world I'm no longer sure is mine.

I steel myself, masking the fear with brittle defiance. “Fine. I’ll deal. But don’t expect me to play the grateful little sister. Not after this.”

Cassidy exhales, weary. “I don’t expect you to be grateful. I only expect you to survive.”

Her words hang heavy in the room as she regains her feet and leaves. I close my eyes, but the sounds and scents won’t let me rest. I feel everything too much, like the world has peeled open and stuffed itself into my veins.

I don’t know how to live like this. I only know I won’t let it break me.

From the foyer, I hear a knock sound at the door—firm, authoritative. Cassidy returns, her eyes cutting quickly to mine. “He’s here.”

“Who’s here?” I demand.

Before she can answer, the door opens, and Gage, a man I danced with at my sister’s wedding, steps inside.

The air between us feels charged and electric.

My new senses flare, catching his scent—leather, steel, something primal.

Even the elevator’s piano-string whine seems to tune itself to him.

My head starts to spin, and I feel as though I want to throw up. My pulse spikes.

His stare pins me in place, heavy and unrelenting, as if he’s peeling back layers I didn’t give him permission to see. Something feral glints in his eyes, dark and unsettling, and it sends a chill racing along my spine. Gage, the weight of him makes the air itself feel dangerous.

What lingers is more than fear. It coils low and certain, a sense that our paths won’t just cross—they’ll collide.

The slam of a door down the hall shatters the moment. Voices rise—firm, commanding, practiced in the cadence of men who don’t ask permission. He breaks our stare and turns away, leaving me with the echo of it, a shadow pressed against my skin.