Page 31 of Hollow

I should be disturbed by how practical they’re being, but instead I find it reassuring. They know what they’re doing. Somehow, these two men who can barely be in the same space without sparking are completely in sync when it comes to covering up a murder.

Damiano pours the liquid over the body, being methodical in his application. The smell is pungent but not unpleasant—something herbal and earthy. He then adds more dirt amost robotically. Then hetakes a handful of dark soil mixed with seeds and sprinkles it over Liam.

“Your turn,” he says, offering the mixture to me.

I hesitate, then take a handful. The soil is cool and damp against my palm. I let it fall onto Liam’s chest, watching as tiny seeds bounce and settle across his torso. It feels ceremonial, almost reverent, despite the horror of what we’re doing.

Flint takes his handful next, completing our macabre ritual. Then we all pick up shovels and begin filling in the grave.

“So I’m stuck here now, right?” I ask as we work. “I can’t just go back to Seattle until we’re sure no one suspects anything?”

“Exactly,” Flint confirms. “Leaving suddenly would raise questions. You stick to your original plan. Recovery time on the island. Act normal.”

“But stay away from The Vault,” Damiano adds. “That’s Viktor’s territory. If he starts asking questions about his brother, you don’t want to be anywhere near it.”

“And stay away from the maze for a while,” Flint says, gesturing around us. “At least until these plants start growing and everything looks natural again.”

“So I’m basically under house arrest,” I say, trying not to sound bitter. “Stuck in my own personal luxury prison.”

“It’s not forever,” Damiano says quietly. “Just until the initial search dies down. People go missingon Heathens Hollow. Eventually they’ll assume Liam left or had an accident somewhere.”

We fall silent again, focusing on the task. The grave fills quickly with three of us working, and soon there’s only a slight mound to indicate anything’s different about this spot. Damiano spends extra time arranging the soil, making it look natural, then sprinkles more seeds across the surface.

“We should get back,” Flint says, glancing at his watch. “It’s been almost two hours.”

Damiano nods. “I’ll handle the tools. Say I’ve been doing early morning maintenance.”

“And what about me?” Flint asks. “How do I explain being here?”

A flash of irritation crosses Damiano’s face. “Figure it out. You always do.”

“Fuck you,” Flint says, but there’s less heat in it than before.

“Seriously?” I cut in, exasperated. “Can you two go five minutes without this?”

They both look at me, then at each other, and something shifts in the air between them.

“He came to see me,” I say, the solution suddenly obvious. “We met at my party; he wanted to check how I was feeling after my migraine. You let him in, Damiano, because you know I’ve been lonely and could use a friend.”

Damiano raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “That works.”

“Nice,” Flint agrees. “Simple, plausible.”

“And based in truth,” I add. “I could use a friend. Or two.”

Something passes between us then, some unspoken acknowledgment that we’re in this together now, whether we like it or not. Three strangers bound by blood and secrets.

“Let’s go,” Damiano says, gathering the tools. “And remember… act normal.”

As we walk away from the grave, I can’t help looking back one last time. There’s nothing to see now. Just freshly turned earth that will soon sprout new life. In a few weeks, no one will know what lies beneath the green growth.

No one except us three.

Flint falls into step beside me, his shoulder occasionally brushing mine. Damiano walks slightly ahead, leading us through the maze with the confidence of someone who knows every turn by heart. I find myself studying them both—the tension in Damiano’s shoulders, the careful distance Flint maintains, the weird energy between them despite how much they claim to hate each other.

And somehow, I’m being drawn into their gravity. Both of them so different, yet equally magnetic in their own ways. Damiano with his quiet intensity and hidden depths. Flint with his sharp edges and unexpected kindness.

“You okay?” Flint asks quietly, having noticed my scrutiny.

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