Sage

The fire outside crackles faintly, casting long shadows against the tent walls. Dash sits on the edge of the bedroll, his shoulders tense, staring out into the night like he can will the world to settle just by watching it. He’s been quiet since the meeting with Alicia and Reeves, and that silence is heavier than usual—charged, like a storm waiting to break.

I take a slow sip from my mug, the heat of the tea doing little to ease the knot in my chest. The low hum of camp activity filters in, muffled and distant, but it only seems to magnify the stillness between us. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“Are we going to talk about this?”

Dash doesn’t even turn. “Talk about what?”

I let out a sharp breath, setting the mug down with a clink. “You, acting like I’m about to get myself killed every five minutes. Don’t play dumb, Dash. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

His head turns slightly, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. “You’re walking into danger every five minutes, Sage. What do you expect me to do? Pretend it’s fine?”

“I expect you to trust me!” The words come out louder than I intend, but I don’t care. “I expect you to stop hovering like I’m some reckless amateur who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

That gets his attention. He turns fully now, his eyes sharp, the tension in his jaw visible even in the low light. “This isn’t about trust,” he snaps, his voice low but no less intense. “It’s about keeping you alive. Do you think I don’t know how capable you are? How smart you are? But strength and smarts don’t stop bullets, Sage. They don’t stop people like Reeves’s men.”

His words cut deeper than I want them to. I know he means well, but it’s like he doesn’t hear me. “And what about me?” I fire back, standing now. “Do you think it’s easy for me to watch you put yourself in harm’s way? To see you step between me and danger like your life is worth less than mine?”

“It’s not about worth,” he says sharply, his tone rising. “It’s about what I can live with. And if something happens to you because I wasn’t there—because I didn’t do enough—I won’t be able to—” He cuts himself off, raking a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling into the air between us.

“Dash…” My voice softens, but he shakes his head, his hand falling to his side.

“I know I’m too much,” he says, his voice tight. “I know I hover, I know I get in the way, and I know I’m probably driving you crazy. But I can’t just stand by, Sage. I can’t lose you.”

There’s something raw in his voice that makes my chest tighten, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to yell at him, to tell him he’s being ridiculous, but the other part—the part that knows what it’s like to be scared for someone you care about—knows he’s not entirely wrong.

“You’re not going to lose me,” I say finally, the words softer now. “But Dash, if we’re going to make it through this, I need you to trust me. To let me be your partner. Not someone you’re constantly shielding.”

He exhales, his shoulders slumping slightly as the fight drains out of him. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor.

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“What if you can’t handle it, Sage?” he asks quietly, almost like he’s afraid of the answer. “What if the next thing is too much?”

The question hangs between us, heavy and unanswerable.

“I don’t know,” I admit, the honesty bitter on my tongue. “But I can’t live my life waiting for the worst to happen. And neither can you.”

He looks at me then, his eyes searching mine, and I can see the conflict there—the push and pull of his need to protect me and his struggle to let go.

“I’ll try,” he says finally, the words heavy with effort. “But I can’t promise I’ll get it right.”

I step closer, brushing my fingers lightly against his. “I’m not asking for perfect. Just… try.”

His lips press into a thin line, and he nods, the tension in his posture easing just slightly. But I can still feel the weight of his worry, lingering in the space between us like an unspoken promise.

Dash

The gray light of dawn filters through the thin canvas of the tent, chasing away the shadows but doing nothing to lighten the weight in my chest. Sage is still curled against me, her breathing slow and steady, her warmth grounding me in a way that feels both comforting and terrifying.

I don’t sleep much. I never do. But last night was worse.

The argument keeps replaying in my head—her words, my words, the way her eyes flashed with frustration when I tried to explain myself. I don’t know how to fix this, how to give her the space she wants without ignoring every instinct screaming at me to keep her safe.

Her breathing shifts, and I glance down to see her stirring, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, there’s peace on her face—a fleeting moment of calm before the world rushes back in.

Then her gaze sharpens, her shoulders tensing as she stretches.

“You don’t have to take it all on yourself, you know,” I murmur, breaking the silence.

She gives me a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I know.”

She doesn’t, though. I can see it in the way she moves, the way she carries herself. She’s trying to shoulder too much, and it’s going to break her if she’s not careful.

The camp is already awake by the time we step outside. Reeves’s men move like predators, their eyes sharp and hard, while the women dart between tasks, keeping their heads down.

The whole place grates against me—the tension, the unspoken rules, the feeling that every move is being watched.

Sage walks tall beside me, her confidence steady, but I can see the strain in the set of her jaw. She’s feeling it, too.

Reeves appears out of nowhere, his smirk as infuriating as ever. “Morning,” he drawls. “Heading to see Alicia?”

“That’s the plan,” Sage says, her voice clipped.

“Well,” he says, falling into step beside us, “I think I’ll tag along. Wouldn’t want to miss the fun.”

The meeting is tense, every word a sharp edge, but Sage holds her own. She counters Reeves’s condescension with calm precision, her voice steady, her posture unflinching.

I try to focus, but my attention keeps drifting to one of Reeves’s men. He’s too close, his posture too relaxed, his hand resting on his weapon like it’s an extension of himself.

Then his gaze flicks to Sage, his lips curling into a mocking smile as he steps closer.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he drawls. “You’re getting awfully mouthy.”

Before Sage can respond, I’m there, stepping between them. My voice is cold. “Back off.”

The man’s smirk falters, but he doesn’t move.

“Dash,” Sage says, her tone cautious.

“She’s not part of this,” I growl. “Touch her, and you’ll regret it.”

“Enough,” Reeves snaps, his tone sharp.

The man steps back, but his eyes linger on me, the threat clear in his gaze.

When we’re finally alone, Sage rounds on me. “What the hell was that?”

“Me keeping that bastard from putting his hands on you,” I snap, my frustration spilling out.

“I had it under control!”

“Like hell you did.”

The words hang between us, the tension crackling in the air.

“I’m not helpless,” she says, her voice rising.

“And I’m not sorry,” I counter, my tone low but firm.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks, the silence filled with everything we’re too stubborn to say.

Finally, I step closer, my hand brushing hers. “I’m scared of losing you, Sage,” I say quietly.

Her breath catches, and her eyes meet mine, the anger fading into something softer.

Before I can stop myself, I lean in, my lips brushing hers.