Sage’s POV
I woke up to the sound of breathing.
Not loud. Not labored. Just… steady. Close.
My head ached. My wrists burned. My knees felt like they’d been dragged over glass. And for a second, I thought I was dreaming. That I was still back in my apartment. Or in Beth’s car. Or on the floor of Hector’s garage while we were trying to track down Alice’s crazy ass.
But then I opened my eyes.
And there he was.
Mark.
Sitting against the far wall of a cell, hands on his knees, shirt stained with something dark—maybe blood, maybe sweat, maybe both. His lip was busted. His hair stuck to his forehead. And even like that—messed up and barely hanging on—he looked like home.
My whole body hurts.
But my heart? It cracked open the second I saw him.
“Mark,” I whispered.
His head snapped up.
