Page 25 of Forsaken Oath

But I’m not sure where the fucking attitude is coming from. And I’m not about to tell him that she talks to me about shit now. It’s not usually super deep or anything profound. Usually sheshares what she’s baking, weird things their cat does—normal shit.

Graham drops his gaze to his plate, stabbing at his lasagna with a bit more force than necessary. I can practically feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. He's always been protective of our sisters, but ever since Cora started dating Jagger, he's kicked it into overdrive.

I get it; I do. The thought of my little sister with any guy is enough to make my blood pressure spike. But at some point, he’s going to have to get over himself. We’re all adults here.

“I trust her, and she loves him. So lose the attitude or don’t.” I shrug, annoyance flaring underneath my skin. “But I’m done listening to you bitch about it. I’ve got a fucking Gauntlet to prepare for.”

I pull the linen napkin from my lap, the color snagging my attention once more. It’s a familiar shade of gold. Warm and endless, just like the eyes that have been haunting my dreams for weeks now.

Not for the first time, I wonder where the fuck Eloise is.

12

ELOISE

“I still can’t believeyou thought I was fucking Nate.” Margot shudders, her face squishing up like she just ate a lemon. “Gross, dude.”

I downshift and follow the bend in the road. The sun dips low on the horizon, only a few minutes away from setting completely.

“He’s not gross.” I huff, rolling my eyes and checking the rearview. We haven’t seen a single car behind us in ten minutes. Nerves flutter between my ribcage, winding around the bones and pulling taut.

“I mean, yeah, he’s hot. But he’s like a hot, older estranged relative or something,” she mutters, changing the song again. “Like a third cousin.”

I give her a strong side-eye. “That doesn’t even make sense. And will you stop messing with my playlist? It’s curated for a reason.”

She huffs her annoyance. “Louie, I love you, but your music taste is fucking wild. Like, what is this playlist? Bush, Nirvana, Taylor Swift, the Pixies, Sabrina Carpenter, and Fleetwood Mac. What are you gonna play when you race? Because you needsomething hype, and . . . I don’t honestly know if thisassortmentwill get the job done, ya know?”

“You’re a pain in the ass sometimes,ya know?” I mock the last two words. “Don’t worry about what I listen to. I got it.”

Abruptly, *NSYNC fills the car, barely heard over my sister’s laughter. “Oh my god, sis, you should drive toBye Bye Bye. I can just picture you smoking all of ’em, and then when they catch up, you’re on the other side of the finish line, blasting some boy bands.”

My mouth curls up into a reluctant smile. I can almost see the image, but I’m too nervous to think too much about it. If I’m not careful, I’m going to talk myself out another ten times in the next five minutes. I’ve agonized over this for the last forty-eight hours. Guilt eats away at my stomach about everything these days.

But as much as I can appreciate boy bands, they don’t give me the energy I’m gonna need for this. It’s been a long time since I raced in this kind of setting. I need something with more edge to get me into the zone.

“It’d be funny, for sure. But I don’t need to win. I just need to be in the top twenty-five. And that’s not the song I had in mind.”

“You’re gonna win, and I swear to god if you play some gamma wave bullshit, I’m refusing to get out of the car. I know you like it, but it mellows you out too much. We need you amped up and ready to squash these other drivers like an atom under a supercollider.”

“That science class you’re taking this semester is really paying off, I see.”

“Yep,” she says, popping the p. “Sure is. Now, stop deflecting.” She switches to another song, and I think about adding it to the playlist. It has all the things I look for in a driving playlist: good beat, something I can shout-sing if the mood strikes, and high energy.

I cave. I know she’s gonna give me some shit about my choices. I don’t know if it’s a sisterly thing or a Margot thing. Probably both. “Go back to my playlist. It’s the most recent one I made.”

“Damn, Louie.” She whistles under her breath as she scrolls on my phone. “Okay, these could work.”

My brows hit my hairline. “That’s it? You’re not gonna make some offhand comment about being stuck in the grunge era, orit’s not just a phaseor whatever else.”

She looks up from my phone and stares at me for a second. “I mean, I can if you want me to, but I figured I’d be nice today. Ya know, since it’s a big race and all.”

I turn onto dirt tire tracks in the middle of a grassy field. Trees line one side of the makeshift road, stoic sentinels to the generations of people passing through. They’re tall enough that I imagine they’ve been here for a hundred years, providing shelter and harboring secrets.

It’s a straight shot into a wooded area, a little over a quarter mile from the street. Vibrant streaks of orange and pink fill the car before we drive between two tall trees, their branches stretching toward the car. A hushed darkness blankets us, but it’s not the frightening kind.

My headlights pierce through the shadows, illuminating the path ahead. The beams dance over the undergrowth on either side of the dirt road. Wildflowers cluster in pockets next to the road, the same ones that I saw swaying in the field.

It doesn’t last long before the woods open up to the clearing. The moon hangs low and full. Its silvery light bathes the landscape in an ethereal glow, spotlighting the scene in front of us.

---