Page 61 of Hollow

I stare at Flint’s text, my stomach dropping. Five words that chill me more than the fog pressing against my bedroom window.

Only an hour’s passed since I got home from The Vault. I’d just stepped out of the shower, hair still dripping onto my shoulders, when my phone lit up with Flint’s message.

My first instinct is to ignore it, pretend I’m asleep, that I never saw it. But the thought of that body in the maze, of what will happen if it’s discovered, won’t let me.

I pull on jeans and a black sweater, still warm from the dryer, and grab my boots. The clock on my nightstand reads 12:43 AM. The house is silent around me, Mrs. Fletcher having gone to bed hours ago.

The back stairs creak under my weight as I makemy way down to the kitchen. Every sound seems amplified in the quiet house, my heartbeat loudest of all. I ease open the back door and slip outside.

The night air hits me like a slap—cold, damp, heavy with salt and mist. Classic Heathens Hollow.

The security lights cast eerie halos in the fog, barely illuminating the path ahead. I keep to the shadows, aware that Viktor’s men might still be watching the property.

My boots sink into the soft earth as I follow the narrow garden path that leads to the maze. Every few steps, I stop to listen, but there’s nothing except distant waves and the occasional owl.

What is Flint thinking, asking me to meet him there? At the site of a murder? Is this some kind of sick joke? This goes against everything he and Damiano have been lecturing me about.Stay home. Be careful. What were you thinking?Hypocrite.

The entrance to the maze looms ahead, a dark mouth opening into what feels like another world. I hesitate, remembering the last time I stood in this spot—running from Liam, terrified, desperate. I push away the memory and step inside.

The hedges rise on either side, blocking what little moonlight filters through the fog. I take out my phone, using its flashlight to guide my way, careful to keep the beam pointed downward. Even with the light, I make wrong turns, hit dead ends, double back.

“Lost?”

I nearly scream at the voice behind me, spinning around to find Flint standing there, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable in the shadows.

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“A lot of things.” He takes the phone from my hand and switches off the flashlight. “But right now, I’m mostly wondering why you’re using a beacon that anyone watching the property could spot from a mile away.”

He’s right, but I’m too rattled to admit it. “Why did you text me to come here? In the middle of the night?”

“Follow me.”

He turns without waiting for a response, moving through the maze with the confidence of someone who’s walked it a hundred times. I have no choice but to follow, brushing my fingers along the hedge wall to keep my bearings in the near-total darkness.

After what feels like forever, the path opens into the clearing at the center. The gazebo sits in the middle like a ghost, its white paint glowing faintly in the diffused moonlight. Off to one side, barely visible in the darkness, is the patch of freshly turned earth where we buried Liam.

Flint stops at the edge of it, looking down. “Do you have any idea how close we came to this being discovered today?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Viktor had men searching the grounds whileyou were busy playing detective at The Vault. They were twenty feet from this spot when Mrs. Fletcher intercepted them, feeding them some bullshit about restricted areas of the property your father doesn’t allow anyone to access.”

A cold feeling spreads through my chest. “They were here? In the maze?”

“Three of them. For over an hour.” He gives me a hard look.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I only found out after you left.” There’s a sharpness to his voice that wasn’t there before.

I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly very aware of what happened between us just hours ago. What almost happened.

“You could have texted me sooner.”

“And said what? ‘By the way, while I had my fingers inside you, killers were twenty feet from finding your victim’?”

I flinch at his crudeness. “He wasn’t my victim.”

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