Page 136 of Without a Trace
Alden exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It felt like something ancient woke up.”
I nodded once. “That’s because it did.”
Silence stretched between us. Not the easy kind. The kind that pressed in from all sides, suffocating.
“You think she felt it too?” Rhett asked from the doorway, quieter now.
Trace’s jaw tightened—not clenched, just taut with something unspoken.
“She doesn’t know,” Alden murmured. “Not yet.”
“She will,” I said. “And when she does, everything changes.”
Footsteps echoed behind us.
Scarlett’s voice carried across the porch. “Someone better start fucking explaining.”
The three of us turned as she stepped out. Trace’s shirt still hanging off her frame like a flag planted on enemy ground.
I looked between Trace and Alden. Watched the way their bodies went still, the way neither of them moved to speak first.
And I knew then—this wasn’t just about desire. Wasn’t just about the girl.
They’d sealed something they never fucking understood.
And now?
There was no going back.
Trace didn’t flinch. Alden shifted behind him.
“We didn’t plan it that way,” Alden said, his voice rough. “It just—”
“Don’t.” I straightened. Turned to face them. “Don’t feed me that shit.”
Trace’s shoulders rose slightly with a breath, but he didn’t argue.
Scarlett
Trace turned first, slowly. His hand curling tighter against the porch railing, looking out onto the turquoise water.
Alden stood near the edge of the steps, arms crossed, shoulders squared as if he was bracing for impact.
Zeke started pacing. Back and forth in a straight line, mug in one hand, fury written in every step. Controlled. Calculated. Until he wasn’t. He stopped short and turned to Trace.
“You weren’t supposed to touch her like that.”
I stepped forward. “Touch me?” I snapped. “I’m not some sacred fucking artifact. Ichosethem”
Trace flinched, but I didn’t give him time to respond.
“You’ve all been hiding something,” I said. “And I was fine pretending it was just Hollow Order secret code-of-silence bullshit. But whatever the hell happened last night.” I glanced down at my wrist, lifting it just enough to show the silver band. “This hasn’t stopped buzzing. What the hell is it? Some sort of tracking device?”
Zeke’s gaze flicked to it. He didn’t answer right away—just paced once, then stopped like the words tasted sour in his mouth.
“It just reacts to it. You could throw it in the damn ocean and you’d still feel them,” he said flatly.
I blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”
