Page 52 of Blurred Lines

"Whoever it was, they're gone," he says, his voice strained. He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture at odds with his usual composed demeanor. "I lost them in the vines."

A fresh wave of terror washes over me, making it close to impossible to breathe. I stare at Caeleb, barely registering the words of comfort he's offering. He's telling me it'll be okay, they barely saw anything, he'll call the others and find out who it was.

None of it changes what just happened. I know what happens to models who get their personal lives out in the open. They get ripped apart.

"Emily?" Caeleb asks me gently.

I shake my head. "I need to go."

He looks hurt. I want to tell him this has nothing to do with him, that my life is just too complicated for me to bring more drama into it, but I can't find the words. "Caeleb, please, can you go? I need to get some rest."

Before he can say anything else, I'm heading back to the mansion, just a few feet from the vineyards. He doesn't call me back.

I know I've hurt him, but my mind is playing like a broken record, repeating one thing over and again. We were seen, exposed. Nothing good can come out of this.

21

FINN

Ihave spent the better part of the night going through Harvey's riddle again and again. The whir of my good old VCR fills the room. I watch the tape again, relishing in how scrubby I looked when I was ten years old. On the screen, Caeleb, Silas, Harvey, and I are a band of fearless explorers, kings in our domain. This is from before we each went off, determined to know more about the bigger world. Who knew we'd eventually wind up back here in this sleepy town?

A smile rises to my lips as I watch Harvey pour a bucket of ice water on Silas's head. The grainy footage can barely contain the energy, the sheer force of life that we embodied. As he runs from Silas—who is mouthing curses that he has no business knowing at that age—Harvey signals to me, the recorder in my hand. I go after him. I was always the closest to him. We go to the vineyards, sit down on the damp ground, and he passes me a few plump grapes, aching with sweetness.

"I'm going to run away from here, y'know?" he tells me, biting down on the flesh of a grape.

"Where will you go?" I ask, not believing him for a second.

"Dunno," he admits with a shrug. "Anywhere where there isn't so much …" he doesn't say the words but looks pointedly at the mansion looming in the distance.

I do know. Mr. and Mrs. Martin are likely in the middle of one of their very physical altercations. Harvey's face becomes stony. "I'll never marry. It'll be the death of me if I do."

The screen blanks out.

I sigh and rise. The crystal tumbler feels cold, almost biting against my palm as I lift it, the golden liquid catching the last slivers of light sneaking through the blinds. I tilt the glass, watching the whiskey coat its sides, a slow dance of amber and shadow. The scent hits me first—oak, a hint of vanilla, the faintest whisper of smoke. It's like stepping into an old, familiar room.

I settle deeper into the armchair, the leather creaking softly beneath me. The room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fireplace, the flames casting a warm glow against the walls. I take a sip, the whiskey smooth and fiery as it slides down my throat.

My eyes drift to the window, where the night presses against the glass, a canvas of ink and starlight. I stand, moving with a purposeful ease. The glass rests lightly in my hand. I walk to the fireplace, the flames reflecting in the whiskey. I toss another log into the fire, sparks flying, crackling fiercely as they join the blaze. The heat washes over me.

Returning to the armchair, I take another sip and lean back, letting the chair envelop me as I think of everything Harvey used to tell me.

Then, it hits me. Harvey had a hideout. None of us knew about it, save that it existed, somewhere in the mansion. As if on cue, my phone rings. It's Caeleb.

I answer immediately.

"Finn?" His voice crackles through, tense, hurried. I straighten up, senses sharpening. "Something's come up."

"What's happened?"

He sighs, a sound heavy with the night's wear. "The vineyards, Finn. Emily and I … we were compromised. There's more to this than we thought."

"What do you mean, compromised?" I ask, though I can hazard a pretty solid guess.

"I think someone took our picture."

"Caeleb, my man, why the hell were you doing it out in the open?"

"We just?—"

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