Sage

The camp feels heavier with every step I take. The air is thick with tension, the kind that settles in your lungs and refuses to let go. Women dart between tents, heads down, shoulders hunched, moving like ghosts. A few Accord men linger nearby, their eyes sharp, scanning the scene like they own it.

Dash walks close beside me—too close. His hand brushes against the small of my back, not quite touching, but enough to remind me he’s there. Always there.

I want to tell him to give me space, but I don’t. It’s not him I’m angry with.

A sharp voice breaks through the uneasy quiet. A man stands near one of the tents, his words loud and cruel as he berates a woman holding a bucket. She flinches, her hands trembling, but she doesn’t say a word.

I stop without thinking, my body leaning forward as if drawn to the scene.

Dash’s hand clamps gently but firmly around my arm. “Sage,” he says, his voice low, warning.

I glance at him, my jaw tightening. “She’s scared,” I whisper. “I can help.”

“No,” he says, his tone as sharp as a blade. “You can’t.”

I blink, taken aback by the edge in his voice. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

He steps in front of me, blocking my view of the man and the woman. His eyes bore into mine, his voice dropping lower. “We’re not here for this. You can’t get involved.”

My chest tightens, a flare of anger burning through the unease. “She’s being screamed at, Dash. I can’t just walk away.”

“Yes, you can,” he snaps. “And you will. Look around you, Sage. This isn’t our camp. If you step in, you’ll make things worse—for her and for you.”

The words feel like a slap, but his expression doesn’t soften.

“She doesn’t deserve this,” I hiss, my voice trembling.

“No, she doesn’t,” he says, his tone quieter now but no less firm. “But this isn’t your fight.”

The man storms off, leaving the woman hunched by her tent, her shoulders shaking. My stomach twists, but Dash’s presence looms, stopping me from moving.

“Let it go,” he says, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

I pull my arm out of his grip, stepping back to put space between us. “Easy for you to say,” I bite out. “You’re not the one who has to stand here and watch.”

Dash exhales sharply, his frustration clear. “I’m trying to protect you, Sage.”

“From what?” I snap. “From caring? From doing what’s right?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he’s going to snap back. But he doesn’t. Instead, he glances away, his shoulders stiff. “From this place. From these people. From the mess you’ll drag yourself into if you try to fix everything here.”

The bitterness in his voice cuts deeper than I expect. I take a step back, crossing my arms tightly. “I’m not trying to fix everything. But ignoring it isn’t the answer, either.”

Dash looks at me, his gaze unreadable. “You can’t save everyone, Sage.”

The words linger in the air between us, heavy and final.

I swallow hard, the anger and frustration and helplessness swirling inside me until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. “Maybe not,” I say quietly, my voice trembling. “But that doesn’t mean I should stop trying.”

Without waiting for a response, I turn on my heel and walk away, my heart pounding. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t stand there another second, caught between his protectiveness and my own frustration.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

The camp looms around me, oppressive and stifling. Everywhere I look, there’s another reminder of how little power I have here—how little power anyone has.

The path winds through the Accord camp, a maze of tents and makeshift shelters. Each corner I turn reveals another reminder of why I hate this place. Women move quickly, their heads down, some balancing heavy loads while Accord men bark orders at them or worse—ignore them completely, like they’re invisible.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I just need to get away from Dash, away from the tension coiled so tightly between us that it feels like it might snap.

The sound of boots on dirt follows me, steady and deliberate.

“Sage,” Dash calls, his tone softer now, but I don’t stop.

I hear him sigh behind me, his footsteps picking up until he’s walking beside me again. “You’re mad,” he says, like he’s trying to ease his way back in.

“No,” I say, quick and sharp. “I’m frustrated, Dash. There’s a difference.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, and for a moment, we walk in silence, the tension between us like a third presence.

“You think I don’t care,” he says finally, his voice quiet but firm.

I stop, spinning to face him. “Do you?”

The question lands heavy, and I can see it hit him, the way his brow furrows, the way his jaw tightens.

“Of course I do,” he says, his tone heated now, his voice rising just enough to catch the attention of a passing Accord soldier. Dash lowers his voice, glancing around before continuing. “But I care about you more. You think it’s easy for me to watch you walk into this place and not do something? You think I want to hold back?”

I open my mouth to respond, but the words catch. Because he’s not wrong. I know he cares. I know his protectiveness isn’t coming from a bad place.

“I don’t want you holding back,” I say, my voice quieter now. “But I can’t let fear—your fear—be the thing that stops me from doing what I came here to do.”

Dash steps closer, his hand reaching out, resting gently on my arm. “This place isn’t like our camp,” he says, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You know that. You’ve seen it. These people don’t care about rules or fairness or what’s right. If you push too hard, you’ll pay the price for it, Sage. Not them.”

His words dig into me, and I hate how much sense they make.

“I can’t just stand by,” I whisper, my throat tightening.

“I know,” he says, his hand sliding down to take mine. “And I can’t just let you get hurt.”

We stand there, caught in the tension of our own emotions, neither of us willing to give completely.

“You have to trust me,” I say finally, my voice shaking. “That’s all I’m asking. Trust me to know where the line is.”

His grip on my hand tightens, and for a moment, I think he might argue. But then he lets out a slow breath, nodding reluctantly. “Okay,” he says, though his voice is strained. “But if something goes wrong, I’m not waiting on the sidelines, Sage.”

I nod, knowing that’s as much of a compromise as I’m going to get.

We walk together in silence for a while, the tension between us settling into something quieter but no less present. My mind churns with everything I’ve seen so far—the women’s hollow expressions, the men’s casual cruelty, the overwhelming sense of helplessness that clings to this place like a fog.

Dash doesn’t hover as closely now, but I can still feel his presence, steady and unyielding. It’s comforting and suffocating all at once.

We pass a group of women huddled near a fire pit, their voices low and furtive. One of them glances up as we walk by, her eyes meeting mine for just a moment. There’s something there—curiosity, maybe even hope—but it’s fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared.

I slow my pace, glancing over my shoulder at Dash. He gives me a look, one that clearly says don’t even think about it.

I ignore it, turning back toward the women.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my tone light as I approach. The women stiffen, their conversation cutting off abruptly.

The one who looked at me earlier steps forward slightly, her shoulders squared but her eyes wary. “Can we help you?” she asks, her voice carefully neutral.

“I’m just passing through,” I say, offering a small smile. “I noticed you all looked… busy.”

She narrows her eyes slightly, her suspicion clear. “We’re always busy,” she says, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone.

Behind me, Dash shifts, his presence like a shadow. I can feel his tension, the way he’s holding himself back from stepping in.

“I don’t want to intrude,” I say, glancing at the fire. “Just… wanted to say hi.”

The woman tilts her head, her gaze flicking to Dash and then back to me. “You’re not from here,” she says, more statement than question.

“No,” I admit. “I’m from a camp a few miles south. We’re working on a pipeline project with the Accord.”

Her expression hardens at the mention of the Accord, but she doesn’t respond.

“I know this place can’t be easy,” I say, my voice softer now. “And I know it’s not my place to tell you how to feel about it. But if there’s anything I can do…”

She lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Anything you can do,” she repeats, her tone bitter. “Unless you’re planning to tear this place down brick by brick, there’s nothing anyone can do.”

The other women glance at each other, their silence speaking volumes.

I swallow hard, the weight of her words settling heavy in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I say, though the words feel hollow. “I wish things were different.”

She doesn’t respond, just nods once before turning back to the fire. The conversation around her picks up again, quieter now, as though my presence has disrupted something fragile.

Dash steps closer, his hand brushing mine briefly. “Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low.

I nod, my throat tight as we walk away.

The rest of the day stretches out endlessly, every step through the Accord camp a reminder of why I need to get this right—why we need to get this right. But the tension between Dash and me lingers, unspoken and unresolved, leaving me feeling more alone than I have in a long time.