Page 111 of Sage Haven

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I burst awake, lungs burning, dragging in sharp, ragged breaths like I was clawing my way out of the depths of an endless pit. My heart hammered a brutal rhythm in my chest, my fists clenched so tightly around the sheets they might tear through them. I couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop feeling them—their hands. Their laughter. The suffocating weight of being prey again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force it away, but it was no use. The memories sliced through me like glass, relentless, jagged, and cold. A scream tore from my throat, raw and broken. I clutched at my scalp, nails digging in hard enough to sting, wishing—desperately—that I could dig deep enough to rip them out. The images. The sounds. The way their fingers had stripped away my humanity like I was a thing. An object.

I justwanted it gone.

I wanted it all gone.

A thought came to mind, though it seemed like a far-fetched idea.

If I could just replace their touch with someone else’s…maybe I wouldn’t feel so hollow.

Maybe the scars wouldn’t ache so viciously.

Maybe I could breathe again.

A soft creak snapped me out of my spiral, sudden and sharp. My gaze shot toward the sound. My pulse jumped when I saw him.

Reich.

He stood by the window, half-cast in shadow, the morning light bringing a brightening warmth across his features. His frame was casual, deceptively so, leaning against the window frame like he belonged there. An open book hung loosely in his hand, his thumb keeping his place. His presence should’ve sent me deeper into panic, but instead—it stilled me. Infuriated me. Grounded me in ways I hadn’t asked for. And yet… I wasn’t sure I wanted him to leave.

"How long have you been there?" My voice was sharp, laced with humiliation. Rawness scraped along every syllable.

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

He simply closed the book in his hand with slow, deliberate precision, “Long enough.”

The silence that followed was thicker than it should’ve been. A pause loaded with things neither of us wanted to address.

Then softer, he asked, “Bad dream?”

His words shouldn’t have mattered. They shouldn’t have dug beneath my skin. But the way he said them… not mocking, not dismissive… it disarmed me.

I tugged the sheets tighter around myself, as if they could shield me from him. From the way his eyes never looked away, like he was peeling me open. “I just… can’t get certain things out of my mind.”

Reich arched a brow, the hint of a challenge flashing behind those unreadable eyes. “The certain things you refuse to talk about?”

I shrugged, trying for indifference. Trying andfailing. I kept my gaze averted, but it drifted anyway—lingering too long on the sharp cut of his jaw and the way his muscles flexed as he shifted his stance. Even beneath the simplicity of joggers and a plain black t-shirt, he was lethal. Dangerous. And God, help me, my body responded to it.

He smirked like he knew. Like he felt the pull just as much as I did, “I came to check on you after—”

“After my ridiculous meltdown,” I cut him off, the words snapping like brittle twigs. The sting of shame made my skin burn.

“No,” he said evenly.

His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t name. Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

A silence stretched between us, thick and uneasy.

Then he broke it, his voice low but sharper than a knife, “I have a different question now.”

I braced myself for what he was about to say.

“Why are you so scared to tell me what happened?”

I shook my head, but it wasn’t enough. “Because…” My voice faltered. I swallowed. “Because you won’t see me the same.”