Her Obsession. Chapter 23

**Sage**

"I don't need anyone," I said quickly. Too quickly. It snapped out like a reflex, a trained response. Like muscle memory from a thousand lessons taught the hard way. You don’t need help. You don’t lean. You stand. You survive. But the truth was bitter, and it sat like glass on my tongue. I don’t need anyone... but I do want someone.

"Everyone needs someone, Sage," he said softly, like he wasn’t trying to argue, just understand. Like maybe he saw through all the barbed wire I’d wrapped around myself. And somehow, that made it worse. The pain crawled up my throat so fast it surprised me. I clenched my jaw, fingers tightening on the edge of the counter, knuckles white. I wanted to speak, to snap back, to deflect like I always did, but the words wouldn’t come. Not this time. Maybe it was the sleep I hadn’t gotten. Maybe it was the days spent bent over a laptop with only old pain and instant noodles to keep me company. Maybe it was the simple, unbearable kindness in his voice. But something cracked open in me, silent and deep. I turned away from the monitor, because I had to. Because if I looked at him, really looked at him, I might fall apart. And I didn’t fall apart. I broke quietly. I splintered in silence where no one could see. But he didn’t leave.

I heard him step closer to the screen, slow and careful like he was approaching a wounded animal. And maybe he was. Maybe that’s what I was. Something sharp-edged and cornered that didn’t know what to do when someone reached out instead of reaching in.

"You don’t have to prove anything, you know," he said. "Not to me. Not to anyone."

I let out a breath. It sounded almost like a laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s still true.”

I blinked hard, forcing the tears back like I always did. I wasn’t crying. I didn’t cry. I just...sat there, trembling slightly from something I couldn’t code or decrypt. Something bigger than firewalls and security feeds. Something like wanting. Like hoping. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t push. But when I finally turned back to look at the screen, I found something in his eyes I didn’t expect. Not pity. Not sympathy. Understanding and it undid me more than any weapon ever could.

“Nico needs to start reviewing the camera feeds before I pass out from exhaustion,” I muttered, leaning back in my chair. My voice was scratchy from disuse. It’s been a long time since I had this many conversations with someone who wasn’t Naomi.

“Nico needs to sleep, too,” Conner said, voice light but edged with something firm.

“Oh. Right.” I blinked slowly. “Forgot that was a thing people did.”

“He can teach me what I need to know, then sleep on the floor beside me in case I need to wake him up.”

“Uh, I’m not sleeping on the floor,” I heard Nico protest faintly through the feed, seconds before Conner smacked him on the back of the head.

“Okay, yeah,” Nico muttered. “Floor sounds great. Big fan of hardwood now.”

I snorted under my breath.

Then Conner’s voice came back through, low and deliberate. “Do you have cameras where you are, Ghost?”

I stiffened. Just slightly. Barely enough to register. I sucked in a breath. “Of course.”

“Give me access.”

My fingers hovered over the keys. “What? No way.”

“You’ve been watching me for what, five years now?” he said, not accusing, just matter-of-fact. “It’s only fair.”

“Fair?” I repeated, lips curling slightly at the word. “There’s no such thing in this world, Conner.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But trust still exists. And you’ve already earned mine. So let me earn yours.”

The room suddenly felt too quiet. Too still. I stared at the screen, watching him, this stubborn, infuriating, relentless man who kept finding new ways to undo the walls I’d spent a lifetime building. He wasn’t asking to invade. He wasn’t asking to control. He was asking to see me. I wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. I reached for the keyboard, hesitating just long enough to feel the weight of the choice I was making. A click. A breath.

“Limited access. Two cameras,” I said flatly. “And if you try to trace me, I’ll gut your firewall and burn your house down.”

“That’s fair,” he said, almost smiling.

I gave him two cameras. One that was perched in a tree a few hundred meters out, camouflaged and facing the cabin from a distance. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave me a thirty-second advantage if someone stepped foot on the only road leading in. Enough time to move. Enough time to kill, if I had to. The second was tucked into the rafter above the main room...inside. My breathing slowed as I clicked the feed over. It gave a full view of the warped wooden floorboards, the scarred front door, and the ugly, mustard-green couch I’d reluctantly claimed as a bed. It was lumpy and smelled faintly of dust and lemon cleaner, but it didn’t matter. It was temporary. Everything in my life always was.

“I just sent you the link,” I muttered through the comms.

“Got it,” Conner confirmed a moment later. His voice was steady, softer now. Not triumphant. Just… there.

“I’ll disable it in the morning,” I added quickly, already feeling exposed. “You’re not keeping it. This isn’t a standing invite.”

“I know,” he said simply and he meant it.

That was maybe the worst part. He wasn’t trying to manipulate me. He wasn’t angling for more. He’d asked for what he needed to help me, then accepted the limits without pushing. And the quiet trust in his voice was more dangerous than any sharp-edged threat I’d ever faced. I moved from the basement, taking my laptop with me upstairs. I wrapped my hoodie tighter around myself and sank down onto the couch, letting my body relax an inch. Just one.

“Sleep, Sage.”

“I don’t...” I started.

“Sleep,” he repeated, gentler this time. “I’ve got eyes now too.”

I placed the laptop on the coffee table, layed down facing the back of the couch and I let sleep consume me and for the first time in a long, long time... I let myself believe that maybe someone did care. That maybe it was okay to have someone watch my back.