Page 115 of Sage Haven

I spent hours that night sifting through my collection, something I hadn’t done in years with this kind of purpose. Every song held its own kind of history, but I wasn’t looking for nostalgia.

I was building a bridge.

One hundred songs. No bullshit. No filler. Each one chosen because I knew the ache behind the lyrics.

Knew what it felt like to need them like oxygen.

And maybe—just maybe—it would remind her there was something worth holding on to.

Maybe it would remindme.

By the time the sun bled into the sky, I was ready. Playlist queued, meal prepped, hands shaking just a little too much as I knocked once on her door before letting myself in.

She was curled up on the bed, wrapped in sheets that clung to her body like they knew how desperately she needed protection. Her breathing was steady, but the faint crease between her brows told me her mind was still chewing through the nightmares.

She looked almost peaceful.

But I knew better.

I crossed the room, setting the tray on the dresser with quiet precision. I could hear the rustling of sheets behind me. When I turned, green eyes locked on me. Awake. Watching.

Sadness flickered there.

And something else.

Something she didn’t want me to see but hadn’t figured out how to hide.

“I have something for you,” I said, clearing my throat. My voice came out rougher than I wanted. “A few things, actually.”

She didn’t move right away. She stayed there, frozen in hesitation, like she wasn’t sure whether this was another game. I gave her time. Let her take it.

When she finally crawled toward me, clutching the sheets around her like they’d offer her protection, it hit harder than it should’ve. Even in this room, even with all the things I’d given her, she didn’t feel safe.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

She eyed the tray warily. “Why are there two plates?”

“Because one’s mine,” I said, casual. Simple.

I picked up the second fork and took a bite, making sure she saw it.

Her gaze lingered.

There was something about the way she looked at me then. Like I was offering her something she couldn’t quite believe was real.

She took the plate. Ate slowly. Carefully.

I arched a brow, catching the shy glances she tried to hide. When our eyes met, she flinched and looked away.

But then she looked back.

Endearing wasn’t a word I used often.

But that’s exactly what she was in that moment.

“What?” I asked after a while, teasing. “Is there a problem with the food?”