The Awakening
Sage finally shook his head, muttering something under his breath before walking away, his shoulders rigid.
When I glanced back at Diego, he was still watching me, and there was a dangerous sort of satisfaction in his gaze.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The confrontation replayed in my mind in jagged flashes—Sage’s protective anger, Diego’s calm amusement, and the way both of them seemed certain they knew what was best for me.
I ended up in the library just past midnight, hoping the smell of old parchment and the flicker of candlelight might distract me.
It didn’t.
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