Page 54 of Hide From Me

12-31-2025

Seaborn Beach

I adjust the ridiculous red skull mask over my face and glance around the bonfire. It burns brightly on the beach, casting an orange glow over the dancing bodies and flickering shadows. Sharkie has a speaker rigged to the bed of Sam’s truck, blasting music that shakes the sand beneath us. Drunk soldiers dive in and out of the freezing water, while rookies patrol the perimeter, their flashlights skimming over the seagrass and gravel.

I don’t understand why we still wear these masks. Technically, yes, they protect our identities during high-risk missions, but since our father passed away, we haven’t really needed them. I know Greenport still uses them occasionally, and maybe Alpine does too, but I’m not sure. All I know is that in the next team meeting, I’m going to rally a vote to get rid of them entirely.

Since my last visit with Raylen, thanks to Jack stealing her phone and letting me know she was pouting, I’ve immersed myself in mission preparation. I’m overwhelmed with files—most of them blacked out, with missing photos and vague training notes. There are no names, just blank spaces where people used to be. I’m trying to memorize their tactics, build profiles, and study how each faction operates but it feels like I’m chasing shadows in the dark and making no progress.

This mission is everything to me, and it's consuming all of my time. I hate it.

Sam, Caspian, Jasmine, and Sharkie all have people who know them well—there are no secrets; everything is completely out in the open. But as forme? I’ve created an outline in the Notes app on my phone just to keep track of what I’ve told Raylen, what I haven’t shared with her, and what I can’t disclose.

It’s fucking exhausting.

Almost as exhausting as planning this whole New Year’s celebration. Normally, Caspian keeps it low-key in the mess hall, but I begged him to let me do this one.

It was never just about ringing in the new year. Tonight was a cover—a surprise bachelor and bachelorette party for Caspian and Sharkie, disguised as festive chaos. They claimed they didn’t want a party and said they didn’t care, but we’re family. We throw the party anyway. And selfishly, I needed a reason to bring her here.

“Oh my god! You stepped on my toe!” Jasmine yells from behind her half-faced, devil-shaped mask, and Sharkie laughs, tilting her head back, her black surgical mask muffling the sound.

“They’re plastered,” Sam mutters as he shoves his hands into his pockets, stepping beside Caspian, who is comfortably seated in the sand, watching his fiancée. Caspian's plain black balaclava shifts as he smiles, and Sam's mask mimics the motion. They’re back to normal. Apparently, beating the bloody hell out of someone is the perfect way for them to make up. Too bad they didn’t get to have all the fun, though.

I grin at the thought, look to the hill, and rub the back of my head, loosening the elastic. Sam swats at the area, which makes me growl in frustration.

“Stop touching that! We told you to wear something comfortable—it’s not like you’d actually wear that on a mission,” he grumbles, and Caspian huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

My mask was intended as a jab at Sam's, who wears a full black balaclava with a skull design painted over the nose. I wanted to say something corny like, "We're two halves of a whole—the perfect team." However, it seems he had the better idea, considering his mask is made of breathable fabric, allowing him tofunction properly, while mine is just plastic that slips against my skin, and the elastic pinches my hair.

What an arse! I blame him. It’s his fault for thinking two steps ahead and not stopping me when he walked in on my "perfect creation."

“Wanna bet?” I ask, raising an eyebrow even though he can’t see it. Without waiting for a response, I start walking toward the hill. I texted Raylen once, but she hasn't replied. My nerves are getting the best of me, and I'm worried she might actually back out.

This was my best idea—getting her close to my people. It’s killing me that I can’t talk about her. I need advice and help in this situation, but I can’t discuss it if no one knows who the woman is that I’m dealing with. I’ve thought this through over and over, trying to figure out the best approach.

“Where are you going, little shit?!” Sharkie yells as she pulls her mask down to her chin to lift a full bottle of gin.

“I’ll be back!” I shout in response while Jasmine stumbles over to Sharkie’s side to pull the drink from her grasp.

Jesus, it’s going to be a night full of yelling soldiers making the most inhumane dark jokes, but it has to work. Sweat beads on my palms as I search my pockets for my phone, but I come to an abrupt stop when I reach the top of the hill. I can’t contain my wide smile.

Raylen’s perched on the edge of the bench, bandana masking the bottom half of her face. Her eyes narrow, lined darker than usual, and her lashes are thick. A baseball cap tugs her hair into loose waves over her shoulders. Almost unrecognizable.

Almost.

“I was wondering when you’d find me,” she says, her voice all bite. “You know how long I’ve been waiting?”

I smirk, heart pounding like a drum line. “You could’ve come down.”

“I got spooked. Your people are loud.”

She’s teasing, but my body heats anyway. The sight of her in that black crop top and tight jeans—the flash of skin where her shirt hangs off her shoulder—yeah, I’d bend her over that bench in a heartbeat if she’d let me. But I can’t. Not yet.

“You should be spooked. These people are feral.” I tease, extending my hand. Her fingers slide into mine, soft and cautious.

“If you’re sacrificing me to sea gods, at least let me tie my hair back first.”

God, she’s fucking perfect. Now that there are little cracks in that barrier she keeps so high between us, I can see what I’ve known she’s been hiding all along.

---