Page 127 of The Truths We Burn

“Sage,” I whisper her name like some deadly, beautiful hex.A dark and lonely curse. “For once, just do what I say.”

I know she wants to fight me; it’s what she does best. But she always wants to prove herself, prove to me she’s finally telling the truth. It takes a moment, but she does as I ask.

I step to the side, and I watch the way her mouth moves. How her tongue flicks when she says words with the letterLin them. Trying to catch a change in her eye color—anything that will show me what I may have missed the first time around.

I’ve never felt so calm. So calculated. This is not a decision I could act explosively towards. Even though I want to. Even though all I want to do is believe her so I can rip Cain McKay’s heart right from the inside of his chest and eat it raw.

This is the theory I wanted to test.

I wanted to see if Alistair would be able to detect treachery in her tone or if Thatcher could see right through the walls she’d built around herself to see her true motive. Even Silas—maybe he would notice a genetic habit in Sage that Rose also did when she told a little white lie.

I need to see if it’s only me that had missed the signs. If I’d been so fucking blinded by the cinnamon-dusted freckles on her cheeks or her curved cupid’s bow, so distracted by our connection that I never even had a chance to sense her lies.

They have an unbiased vision of her.

They don’t share the bond I did with her, and maybe that will be enough for them to tell if she is really telling the truth or if she’s playing us.

Playing me.

She tells them everything about Cain. About her father. And when she gets to the part of her childhood, that pain comes back.

“Sad story, truly.” Thatcher is the first to speak, readjusting his glasses as he sits up on the edge of the white bed. “But sad doesn’t mean I have to believe you. This could be one big web you’re spinning so we trust you, and while my friends, much to their disagreement, have hearts…” He pauses. “I don’t.”

Sage stands tall. Strong. Unwavering even as Thatcher tries to question her.

“I’m not telling you for pity or because it’s sad. I don’t need that from any of you.” She makes sure to look at me last after she says that. “I’m telling you so I can help. So we all can get what we want at the end of this. Justice for my sister.”

“Why would you help us? Why wouldn’t you have just taken the deal, turned us in, and tucked tail?”

It’s the question on all of our minds. What I’ve been thinking about since she told me. We weren’t exactly friends in high school, and she had always expressed her distaste for us and our anarchy.

“Because of Rosie.” She sighs. “She saw something in each of you, even if you tried to bury it deep. Even if I can’t see it myself. She was good at that, seeing things beneath the rubble. She did it with me, and it was no surprise that she did it with you. On multiple occasions, she asked for me to see those things for myself, and I ignored her. I listened to what the town and its shitty people said, instead of seeing things for myself. I am not here to be your friend or make bonds. I’m here because it’s what she would have wanted, and I’m obligated to do this. I owe her the amends she deserves, and I owe it to her to protect the ones she cared about, and that is you. All of you.”

The sting of remembrance is sharp.

It vibrates in the air, slicing each of us differently. Rosemary’s memory is alive and breathing in the room. Her energy, her presence, it’s the reason we are doing all of this. Because it’s a fucking crime for that energy to have been taken from this planet.

One of the last good things in this sick, twisted world, gone in the blink of an eye.

I look at her sister, her glassy eyes and straight spine, standing so strong even though I can see just how badly she wants to fall apart. And my hands shake because they want to catch her. I want to deny it, but I can’t.

I’m desperate to see the girl behind the mask again. To peel back those hardened layers and soak myself in her.

But I can’t.

Not right now.

“Cain has to go,” I say. “I want him dead.”

“And you need to stay protected until then,” Silas adds, staring a hole into Sage’s face.

My jaw tightens. Silas doesn’t need to protect her. She is not his to protect.

“I don’t need anyone to protect me. I can handle Cain. Involving him will only put more heat on you than necessary.”

Thatcher stands up. “If there is blood, count me in.”

My blood starts to pump hot. The calm that had once embraced me is diluting. My rage is starting to surface, my need to punish. All the ways I could break him start to filter through my mind.