Dash

The first light of dawn spills through the slits between the boards that made up the walls of this home I built, casting a soft glow across the blankets. Sage hasn’t stirred much all night, but even from here, I can see the faint flush on her cheeks, the telltale signs of fever.

I lean forward, my hand settling on her forehead, and it’s like touching fire. She’s burning up. I’d noticed she looked worn out yesterday, but I’d chalked it up to the stress of facing Reeves. Now, I feel a quiet ache of worry settling in my chest. I never knew I could care this much—about anyone again.

Her hair is tousled, splayed across the pillow, and despite the fever, there’s something about her that takes my breath away. She’s beautiful, even like this, with strands of hair stuck to her forehead and her lips parted slightly as she breathes. I let my fingers linger a moment longer than necessary, brushing a stray lock away from her face. I’ve gotten so used to her sharp wit, the way she holds herself like armor. But right now, she looks… soft. Vulnerable. And all I want is to make sure she’s alright.

I stand up, grabbing a cloth and a bowl of water, moving as quietly as I can. She murmurs something, too faint for me to catch, and when I sit back down beside her, I dip the cloth in the cool water, pressing it gently to her forehead. Her face relaxes, and I feel something warm, almost painful, settle in my chest. I’d do anything to keep her safe—more than I’d like to admit, even to myself.

After a moment, her eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused. She looks at me, brow furrowing. “Dash?” she whispers, her voice soft, like she isn’t sure if she’s dreaming.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I murmur, my voice coming out gentler than I expected. I brush my thumb across her cheek, a small, helpless gesture. “You’ve got a fever, Sage. Just rest.”

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She tries to sit up, her hand weakly gripping the blanket, but I press a hand to her shoulder, guiding her back down. “Easy,” I say, unable to stop the smile that tugs at my lips. “You don’t need to prove anything right now. Just let me take care of you.”

For a second, she looks like she might argue—typical Sage—but then she lets out a small sigh, her eyelids drooping. I stay beside her, changing the cloth when it warms and keeping an eye on her breathing. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this steady, this sure of myself, as I do just sitting here beside her.

The camp will manage without me today. Right now, she’s all that matters. I settle beside her, changing the cloth when it warms, keeping my focus on her breathing, the rise and fall that lets me know she’s alright. Just knowing she’s here, safe and steady, feels like more than I deserve.

Allie’s words drift back to me, signs I’ve seen a hundred times, her hands moving with their usual sharpness. “You’re too soft, Dash. Too kind. People are going to eat you up if you don’t start protecting yourself.” She used to poke me in the shoulder when she’d say it, a little smirk on her face as if daring me to argue.

She’d say it whenever I was too accommodating with the kids at school or when I’d let my parents load one more responsibility on me without a word. Allie hated it when I let people take advantage, and she made it her mission to toughen me up, as though it’d help her somehow, too.

“If you let people walk all over you, I’ll…” She’d motion like she was going to punch me, her fist barely reaching my chest, her face so serious it would make me laugh every time.

But now, there’s a pang in that memory. In the end, maybe she’d been right. Somewhere along the way, after the bombs, after losing Allie and Marie and everyone else, I started closing myself off. Talking even less than I already did, keeping my distance, learning to live with just the basics, because letting people in seemed like a risk I couldn’t take. Better to be silent, to keep my head down, than to give myself away again.

But here, watching over Sage as she sleeps, I feel something shift. I know I should be keeping this at arm’s length. I know it’d be smarter. But it’s not that simple, not with her. And maybe Allie would have shaken her head, laughed at me like she always did, but right now, I don’t care.