Dash

The morning’s chill lingers as Sage and I make our way to Branson’s tent. I can still feel the warmth of her pressed against me from earlier, the softness of her breath so close, the way she’d smiled at me, lazy and half-asleep. It’s surreal, really—waking up like that, tangled together under the blankets, our foreheads almost touching. I’d thought I’d be able to keep some distance, that it wouldn’t feel… well, this right. We haven’t talked about us, so I don’t know how she feels, but for me, it’s like having a fantasy come true, one that’s somehow better than I’d ever let myself imagine. I have admired Sage from afar, sure she would have no interest in me over the months since she came to the camp.

It’s strange to feel this way, like something new has unlocked in me. I’d never felt anything like this with Marie. We were close—there was comfort and familiarity there—but we were more friends than anything else, together because it was easy and familiar. We stayed close because it made sense, because we were good for each other. But with Sage… it’s different. There’s something real here, something that pulls me in deeper than I knew I could go.

We reach Branson’s tent, and Sage takes a deep steadying breath and nods at me before stepping inside. I let her take the lead, hanging back just enough to watch her ease into the conversation, confident but respectful. She moves forward with that quiet authority she carries, so comfortable in her own way. Branson glances up from a stack of papers, his eyes sharpening as he reads the look on her face. Sage doesn’t waste time; she goes straight to the point.

“Branson,” she says, keeping her voice calm and even, “we need to talk about Mara.”

Branson raises a brow, intrigued but cautious. “What about her?”

Sage takes a moment, glancing my way before returning her focus to Branson. “It’s… the Sovereign Accord. You know how Reeves has been. We’ve kept the younger women safe by implying they’re spoken for. But Mara—she doesn’t have that shield. She’s already widowed, and without that same ‘protection,’ they might see her as an easy target.”

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I watch as Branson absorbs her words, his mouth pressing into a thin line. Sage lets the silence hang, just long enough to let the weight of her words sink in. She’s always good at that—giving people room to come to their own conclusions, even though she’s leading them there herself. It’s one of the reasons people trust her, why they come to her with their worries.

Branson nods slowly, his gaze shifting between Sage and me. “So, what do you have in mind?” he asks, still cautious, but there’s an openness there, like he’s ready to listen.

Sage’s voice is steady, but there’s a hint of softness in it. “I know it’s not ideal, and I wouldn’t suggest it if there were other options… but if you and Mara had some sort of formal arrangement, even just in name, it might be enough to keep Reeves from targeting her. You know, like you strongly suggested of Dash and I? I know that at first, we weren’t worried about Mara—being so freshly widowed, but after thinking it over and seeing Reeves the other day, I just…have this feeling.”

Branson leans back, crossing his arms as he mulls it over. Sage stays calm, holding his gaze, not pushing him but not letting the point go either. This is her strength, I realize—guiding people without overpowering them, steering without seeming like she’s in control. I can’t help but feel a deep admiration watching her like this. She has a way of finessing things, of making it all look effortless, and I can see Branson respects her for it too.

He nods again, his gaze flicking between us. “It’s not something I’d normally consider,” he says, his voice slow and thoughtful. “But I can see where you’re coming from. Mara’s a part of this camp. If this could help keep her safe… then I’m willing to think about it.”

Sage’s shoulders relax, a small smile of relief breaking through. “Thank you, Branson. I think it would make a difference.”

Branson looks at her, his expression softening. “You’ve got a way of making things sound simple, Sage,” he says, his tone laced with respect. “I appreciate you bringing this to me.”

Sage gives a small nod, her expression humble. I realize that this is what she does best, quietly making the impossible seem doable. Seeing her in action like this, I get why people trust her so deeply—it’s because she’s steady and unassuming, and even in moments like these, she brings a sense of calm.

As we leave Branson’s tent, I catch Sage’s eye, giving her a nod of my own and without thinking, signing, while speaking aloud. “You did good”. There’s a flicker of something warm in her gaze, a silent understanding between us. And as we walk back through camp, I can’t shake the feeling of how damn lucky I am to be beside her like this, both in this moment and in all those quiet ones that no one else sees. I also can’t help but smile that I fell back into signing. I forgot how much I love it.