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“Cal?” she said softly.

He nodded slowly and leaned back, looking over at her.

Sage brushed her lavender-streaked hair behind her ear, feeling suddenly very small and very exposed. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice cracking just a little. “I think… you might’ve saved my life.”

Cal went completely still. He looked away for a long moment, his big hands tightening slightly around his mug. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough, a quiet rumble.

“I’m glad I could help.” He paused, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Besides… you make me laugh, princess.”

Sage’s heart did that familiar flip from the diner all over again. She let out a small, embarrassed laugh and looked down at her mug, cheeks warming. “What? You don’t laugh that much?”

Cal was quiet for a beat. Then he looked out at the stars, his voice unusually soft and honest.

“No. Not for a long time.”

The words hung in the cold night air. Sage felt them fall on her like tears. She could sense the weight behind what he wasn’t saying — the shadows, the demons he carried quietly. It made her heart ache in a strange, warm way.

He’s going to think I’m just a stupid girl, she thought. But that stubborn little fire in her chest won out. She reached over and set her hand gently on top of his much larger one.

Cal didn’t look at her, but he slowly placed his other hand over hers. His touch was so gentle it made her throat tighten with the sudden, ridiculous urge to cry. He didn’t say anything else. Neither did she.

They stayed like that for a while — watching the stars, holding hands like they’d been doing it their whole lives.

Eventually they wandered back inside. Cal headed toward the two-story library at the back of the house.

“I’ll be in here if you need me,” he said simply.

Sage wandered for a bit, drifting through the beautiful, quiet luxury of the cabin, fingertips grazing banisters and doorframes, passing rooms that smelled like cedar, old books, and money spent without showing off. She kept finding herself drawn back toward the warm golden light spilling from the library door. Cal looked so peaceful sitting there, his large frame relaxed on the big leather couch that seemed custom-made for him. The lamplight caught in his silver hair and softened the hard lines of his face as he read.

She bit her lip, heart fluttering with nervous warmth. Then she slipped upstairs, grabbed her old diary — the one she hadn't touched in over two years when she was still going to therapy — and came back down.

She hovered in the doorway, suddenly shy.

“Cal?” Her voice came out small. “Can I… can I sit with you?”

He didn’t say anything. He simply shifted over on the couch, making room for her without hesitation, and drew a large, soft fur throw across their laps. Sage settled in beside him, tucking her legs underneath her. The fire roared gently in the massive stone hearth. Outside the tall windows, snow was falling again in quiet, steady flakes.

She watched him for a moment — this quiet, weathered man reading a well-loved copy of Of Mice and Men, its pages soft and dog-eared from countless sessions. The warmth of the room, the crackle of the fire, and the solid presence of him beside her wrapped around her like a blanket.

With a deep, steadying breath, she opened her diary to a blank page, pen hovering for just a second before she began to write.

Dear Younger Sage,

So… I haven’t written in this stupid thing for a long while. I don’t even know why I’m doing it now. I haven’t since therapy when Dr. Alvarez made me write to you like that was going to fix anything.

She paused, pen hovering. The words felt clumsy. She almost closed the book.

Anyway… a lot of stuff happened. I guess I should write it down before I forget. Or maybe because Dr. Alvarez was right and writing to you helps with the anger.

Sage glanced at Cal, then back at the paper. The ink had bled heavily around the word anger. She shook her head, trying to stay calm.

Okay. So…

She took a slow breath.

It’s been over a month since Felicity died.

Yeah. Fucked up, huh? She got hit by a truck and… I had to leave. I didn’t have any money and⁠—