Page 92 of The Scout

The fire. The smoke. The screams.

I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I ran.

After what felt like an eternity, the SUV door finally slammed open. My feet hit the pavement hard, one ankle twisting, but I barely felt the pain. The world had narrowed to the flames licking hungrily at the sky, to the crackling splinters of wood collapsing into the ocean, to the place where Ryker and Will had been—where they hadjustbeen.

They were gone.

I shoved past one of Ryker’s men, barely hearing his shouted warning as I sprinted toward the wreckage of the pier. Folly Beach residents were already pouring into the streets, some clutching their phones, some frozen in place, their expressions twisted in horror.

Folly Beach Pier had stood for decades, stretching proudly into the Atlantic, a landmark as much a part of Charleston’s coastline as the marshes and barrier islands. It had weathered hurricanes, Nor’easters, and therelentless salt air that ate away at anything man-made. Generations of locals and tourists had walked its length, fingers laced together, pausing to watch the fishermen lean over the railings, hoping for a lucky catch.

How many marriage proposals had happened there, with the waves crashing below and the sky painted in sunset hues? How many whispered confessions, first kisses, and stolen moments had unfolded beneath the glow of the string lights lining its edges? How many families had stood at the very end, hands trembling as they let the ashes of their loved ones scatter into the endless blue?

And now, it was gone.

A piece of history, a part of the heart of Folly Beach, obliterated in an instant—nothing but flames and splintered wood sinking into the sea.

Sirens howled in the distance. Boats cut through the water, Dominion Hall’s men converging from every direction, shadows in the chaos.

The scene before me didn’t look real. It looked like something out of a big-budget action movie, the kind with CGI explosions and carefully orchestrated mayhem—except this wasn’t Hollywood. This was real. Too real.

The skeletal remains of the pier jutted from the water like broken ribs, charred wood still smoldering, sending thick plumes of black smoke curling into the night sky. The fire cast an eerie glow, reflecting off the waves, turning the ocean into a rolling expanse of molten gold and deep, endless shadow.

Chunks of the pier’s wooden planks bobbed in the water like lifeless bodies, pieces of railing twisting and sinking beneath the surface. Sparks crackled in the air, embers drifting lazily, carried by the wind, as if oblivious to the devastation below.

People stood frozen on the shoreline, their faces illuminated by the glow of the fire, their mouths open in shock. Some were filming, their phones raised with shaking hands, capturing the kind of destruction most people only saw in movies.

But I wasn’t watching through a screen.

I was living it.

I couldn’t breathe.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

“Ryker!” My voice was raw, torn from my throat as I hit the sand, my knees slamming into the damp earth.

I didn’t feel the pain. Not really. I knew I should have. My knees had hit the sand hard enough to bruise, but the shock of it barely registered. My palms stung where they had scraped against scattered debris, my breath was coming too fast, too shallow, but it was all distant, like it was happening to someone else.

I had read about this before—the way the body could shut down pain in moments of extreme distress, how adrenaline could hijack the nervous system, dull sensation, make everything feel surreal. A survival mechanism. A trick of the brain to keep you from breaking when you should.

But I had never experienced it.

Until now.

Now, I understood it in a way I wished I didn’t.

The numbness wasn’t mercy. It was a delay. The pain would come later, crashing over me like a tidal wave, dragging me under.

The scent of smoke and salt filled my lungs, acrid and burning. My hands clawed at the sand, at nothing. I couldn’t see. I couldn’tsee.

He was in there.

They both were.

My vision blurred, my pulse a frantic, erratic drum against my ribs. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t fucking happening.Ryker—unstoppable, unbreakable Ryker—couldn’t be gone. Will, my brother, the person I had loved since before I understood what love was, couldn’t be?—

A guttural, broken sob ripped from my throat.

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