Page 5 of Forsaken Oath

Her cheeks darken in color, and now it’s my turn to feel shocked.

“Anyone I know?”

Her eyes widen for a second before she smooths her expression into something more neutral. She shrugs, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about who I’m seeing.”

"Oh my God, who is it?" I ask, narrowing my gaze. "There’s only one reason you wouldn’t tell me—he’s Seven Pines, isn’t he?"

Margot scoffs, raising her brows. "Hypocritical much?" She glances at the window behind me. "You’re literally recording some dude going to town on his secretary for Seven Pines."

I bristle, sitting up a little straighter. "It pays the bills, doesn’t it?"

"It pays the bills," she echoes, but her tone softens. "This is why you should just let me get a job. I could help take the load off you, you know."

My chest tightens at her words, and I shake my head. “No. You know how I feel about that. You need to focus on school.” She doesn’t need something else added to her plate, not when she’s so close to making something of herself. “You’re getting out of Avalon Falls, Margot. You’re going to do something big. No distractions.”

I glance at Judge Whitaker through the blinds again. He’s still going at it. I almost feel bad for him. It’s not even subtle—going one town over to hook up with his secretary isn’t the brightest move, especially when he leaves the damn window open like he’s begging to get caught. Once the higher-ups get this, I’m sure his attitude will change.

“You coming back tonight?” She changes the subject, like she always does whenever we talk about her getting out of our small town.

I glance at the clock on my dash, realizing how long I’ve been sitting in this godforsaken parking lot. “Probably,” I say, rubbing a hand over my face. “I’ve been here so long I’m surprised no one’s kicked me out.”

That mischievous spark of hers lights up her face. “You should stay there instead. Do something fun.”

I scoff. “And stay where—at the Paradise Palms Motel? Pass.”

“Nah, you go home with someone,” she says it likeduh.

“Pass.” I can’t remember the last time I hooked up with anyone. Living in a small town makes dating complicated and one-night stands near impossible. Seeing Barron Sharpe in the frozen veggie aisle two days after I faked my orgasm was a new breed of awkward. No thanks.

“Jeez, Louie. Would it kill you to be spontaneous for once?” I hear keys tapping like she’s typing something, and a second later, she snaps her fingers. “Fine, no one-night stands. How about a drive-in? Go see a movie. Relax. You deserve it.”

I scoff, eyeing the motel one last time. "A movie?"

“Yes, Eloise. A movie. You haven’t done anything fun in forever.” She nods like she’s agreeing with herself.

I sigh, leaning back in my seat as I consider it. Maybe she’s right. I’ve been grinding for so long I barely remember what fun feels like.

“You sure you’re good to watch Vivie overnight?” I nibble the inside of my bottom lip.

“Babe. Of course. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t have it already covered,” she assures me. “Now go disco nap in your car or something, because you got a date at the drive-in.”

Somewhere along the way, we started calling little cat naps disco naps. I don’t even know how it started, but it stuck. And my sister definitely uses it freely.

Her enthusiasm is contagious, my smile spreading across my face before I realize it. “Alright, alright. I’ll go see a movie. But I’m coming home early tomorrow.”

“I’ll take it. Have fun tonight! Make bad decisions,” she sing-songs before ending our video chat.

A night at the drive-in seems fool-proof. And she’s right, I do love seeing movies. Looks like I’m staying in this town for a little while longer, but thankfully, Whitaker and his secretary are done.

2

BEAU

The room buzzeswith a familiar mix of tension and excitement that marks the annual coalition meeting. I lean back in my chair, fingers tapping an idle rhythm on the table’s edge. Around me, faces shift in conversation—some lined with years of experience, others still taut with the raw hunger that comes from being new to the game. It’s the same group, more or less: old-timers who could probably fix a carburetor in their sleep, brash up-and-comers who think they’re invincible, and the ones like me, caught somewhere between knowing better and missing the thrill anyway.

The chatter has a pulse to it, steady and sharp, like static, punctuated by the clink of glasses and the shuffle of papers. But the energy in the room doesn’t reach me the way it used to. Instead, there’s a dullness inside that I can’t shake. A weight pressing down on me for weeks, and a dull thrum of apathy that doesn’t belong here.

Two years ago, I would’ve been on the edge of my seat, vibrating with anticipation. The Gauntlet was everything—high stakes, high risk, and the kind of adrenaline that made you feel alive in a way nothing else could. Winning it had beenthe pinnacle, a moment that solidified my reputation and made people talk. But now? Now I sit here, arms crossed, wearing a smile that feels like a mask.

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