Colson

The Choice I Didn’t Make

Colson POV

Morning in this city was a suggestion, not a promise.

The sun filtered down in thin, reluctant strips between buildings like it wasn’t entirely convinced it belonged here. The streets were quieter than the night before, but not peaceful—just hungover. Blood had been washed from the gutters, magic residue scrubbed thin enough that humans could pretend nothing had happened while creatures like me still tasted it in the air.

A new day.

Same past.

I walked toward Ezra’s building because that’s what I did in this era. Because my feet remembered the route better than my mind wanted to. Shortcuts. Blind corners. The exact stretch of pavement where a body had once lain too long before anyone bothered to move it.

Every step stirred memory.

This day had weight.

I remembered it now—not sharply, but clearly enough. Ezra had offered me a job this morning, one that took me out of the city for most of the day. Witch business. Half-rumors. Nothing flashy. Nothing immediately profitable.

In the past, I’d declined.

I’d said I had better things to do.

Better things, meaning blood and distraction and a city that let me forget myself. I’d stayed, gotten drunk, picked a fight, taken a life I didn’t need to take.

And I’d missed something.

Something that mattered.

My pace slowed as the realization settled deeper.

This is one of the hinges.

Not a dramatic moment. No screaming prophecy. Just a casual refusal from a vampire who thought he had all the time in the world.

Amaris had sent me here because of this.

Not because of what happened—but because of what didn’t.

Ezra’s building loomed ahead, its wards humming low and content, like a predator sleeping with one eye open. I could already feel his attention shifting, the way it always did when I got close.

Before I reached the entrance, something tugged at me.

A presence.

Across the street, near a vendor cart that sold food no human with survival instincts should trust, stood Sage.

Past Sage.

Her arms were crossed tight against her chest, posture sharp, eyes scanning the street like she expected trouble to materialize out of thin air. Her hair—northern lights tangled into human form—was pulled back today, the colors muted by shadow and exhaustion.

She looked younger like this.

Not weaker.

Just… unguarded in ways she wouldn’t allow herself later.

In the past, I would’ve ignored her.

She was useful, sure. Ezra’s asset. Kendrick’s headache. A nuisance human who survived things she shouldn’t. I would’ve walked right past her without a second glance.

I didn’t.

I crossed the street instead.

Sage noticed immediately. Of course she did. Her shoulders tensed, her stance shifting just enough to be ready. When her eyes locked onto me, they narrowed.

“You again,” she said flatly. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Occasionally,” I replied. “I just don’t make it a lifestyle.”

She snorted. “What do you want, pest?”

I stopped a few feet away, keeping my hands visible, posture loose. Not threatening. Which was almost funny, considering everything I was.

“In the past,” I said lightly, “I would’ve ignored you today.”

Her brow furrowed. “That supposed to mean something?”

“It means,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “I’m reconsidering some life choices.”

She studied me like I’d just announced I was quitting murder cold turkey. “That’s new.”

“Don’t get excited,” I said. “It’s a trial run.”

She rolled her eyes. “Spit it out. I’ve got places to be.”

I hesitated.

Every instinct screamed caution. Sage was a fixed point in the future I knew—friend, ally, family. But here, she was volatile. Untethered. Still deciding who she would become.

If I changed too much—

If I pulled her too close too soon—

The future could fracture.

Or it could heal.

“I’m leaving the city today,” I said finally. “Job for Ezra.”

That caught her attention. She hid it quickly, but not fast enough.

“Witches?” she asked.

I raised a brow. “You don’t miss much.”

“Someone has to notice things before they get people killed,” she muttered. “What about them?”

“In the past,” I said carefully, “I turned this job down.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You don’t turn jobs down.”

“I know.”

“So why tell me now?”

Because if I’m going to change anything, I thought, I shouldn’t do it alone.

“Because,” I said, “I think it was a mistake.”

She stared at me for a long moment, suspicion and curiosity warring openly on her face.

“You talk like you already know how it ends,” she said slowly.

“I have regrets,” I replied. “Call it an occupational hazard.”

She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Welcome to the club.”

Silence settled between us—not awkward, just cautious.

I broke it.

“Coffee?” I offered, nodding toward the cart. “Or whatever that claims to be.”

She stared at me like I’d suggested we hold hands and skip through traffic.

“Are you trying to be my friend?” she asked bluntly.

The word hit harder than expected.

Friend.

In the future, it would mean everything.

Here, it was dangerous.

“I’m trying,” I said honestly, “to not be the worst version of myself today.”

Her eyes softened—just for a heartbeat—before she caught it and masked it with sarcasm.

“Wow,” she said. “Aim high.”

“I’ve already peaked once,” I replied. “Trying something new.”

She hesitated, then stepped closer to the cart and ordered something bitter and steaming. After a moment, she shoved a cup toward me.

“Don’t read into this,” she said. “I’m bored.”

“Of course,” I said, taking it. “Purely transactional caffeine.”

She snorted again, but this time there was less bite to it.

We stood there, sipping terrible coffee, watching the city wake around us.

“You’re different today,” Sage said suddenly.

I stilled. “Different how?”

“Quieter,” she said. “Still annoying. But… present.”

I forced a smirk. “Careful. You’re going to hurt my reputation.”

She studied me for another long moment, then nodded once, like she’d made a decision she wasn’t going to explain.

“If this witch job is real,” Sage said, “and if it’s outside the city… be careful.”

I nodded, then paused.

She wouldn’t be saying that if she didn’t already know she couldn’t follow.

And I knew why.

Sage didn’t leave the city.

She couldn’t.

The mark was hidden—cleverly done, layered deep beneath skin and magic—but I’d recognized it the first time I’d ever seen her fight. A containment sigil woven into her very essence, binding her to the city limits like an invisible leash. Cross the boundary, and it would kill her before she took a second step.

Ezra called it protection.

Kendrick called it insurance.

I called it a cage.

“You say that like you’ve got the option,” I said quietly.

Her jaw tightened. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not,” I replied. “Just acknowledging the obvious.”

She looked away first.

“Someone has to stay,” she muttered. “Someone has to watch what crawls around in here while the rest of you play errand boy.”

I studied her—really studied her—and felt the familiar twist of anger and guilt.

I’d known about the mark back then.

I just hadn’t cared enough to challenge it.

“If I hear anything,” I said carefully, “I’ll bring it back to you.”

She met my eyes again, something sharp and unspoken passing between us. “You’d better.”

I gave a half-smile. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving you out of the loop.”

That earned a snort. “Careful, Colson. Almost sounded like you care.”

I stepped back toward the street, the city already pressing in around her like a living boundary.

“I do,” I said under my breath.

She didn’t hear it.

But I did.

She turned and disappeared into the street, leaving me with a cup of awful coffee and a decision already made.

I crossed back toward Ezra’s building, heart heavier—but steadier.

Today, I would accept the job.

Today, I would leave the city.

Today, I would follow a thread I’d once dismissed as unimportant.

And maybe—just maybe—becoming Sage’s friend a little earlier wouldn’t destroy the future.

Maybe it would save it.

The watch in my pocket remained silent.

Waiting to see what I’d choose next.