Page 117 of Without a Trace
The words landed with more weight than I expected.
No jokes. No smile.
Just the truth of it.
Alden shifted in his seat, one knuckle dragging along the edge of his plate—subtle, controlled, like movement was safer than speaking.
Trace’s hand tensed on the wine bottle, the glass stem catching candlelight as he refilled his glass without drinking.
I leaned back, fingers ghosting the rim of my glass.
“I wasn’t supposed to be your mission,” I said, voice low. “But here we are.”
No one argued.
The wind shifted—cooler now, thick with salt and something electric. A storm biding its time.
The second bottle of wine was nearly gone, and with it, the last shreds of restraint.
Kane had one leg slung over the arm of his chair, shirt halfway unbuttoned, laughing so hard at something Rhett said he nearly knocked over the wine. Rhett was red-faced, wiping his eyes, holding his stomach. Zeke hadn’t moved much—still brooding at the edge of the table—but even his silence felt less lethal.
Trace swirled his glass slowly, his forearm resting on the table, tattoos catching the candlelight. Alden sat beside him, rigid, the only one who hadn’t cracked. Yet.
But I wasn’t watching them for cracks.
I was watching for truths.
“You ever gonna tell me what this actually is?” I asked, twirling the stem of my glass between my fingers. “The Hollow Order. Sounds dramatic as hell. But what does it mean?”
Trace shifted in his seat.
Even Kane stopped laughing.
Alden was the one who answered, his voice low. “It’s older than you think.”
Rhett leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Started as a brotherhood. Protection. Secrets. A way to keep power away from the wrong hands.”
“And now?” I pressed. “Is that still what it is?”
Zeke’s voice cut in from the shadows. “Depends who you ask.”
“And if I’m asking you?”
He didn’t blink. “Then I’d say it’s a leash. One we’ve all learned to wear.”
The table went quiet.
“And me?” I asked. “Am I the key? The threat? The storm?”
Kane exhaled. “You're all three.”
Alden slammed his drink onto the table, tension radiating off him in waves.
I turned to Trace. “It was your idea to train me. Why?”
His eyes met mine. Not soft. Not kind. Just honest. “Because if anyone’s going to survive this, it’s you, Sunshine.”
The words didn’t flatter. They burned.
