Page 163 of Without a Trace
“So, which one of you has fucked Brielle?”
Forks stalled mid-air. A long pause stretched across the table like spilled gasoline.
Zeke didn’t move. Kane grinned like he’d just been handed front-row tickets to the downfall of the century. Alden blinked slowly. Rhett groaned into his toast. Trace... breathed.
“What?” I said, all innocent. “Is that off-limits now? Thought we were all about secrets and shared destinies and forbidden soul sex.”
Trace let out a low noise in his throat. “Scarlett.”
I kept going. “She shows up with her perfect face and her ancient knowledge and her I-know-where-you-sleep vibes, and I’m just supposed to be chill about it?”
“She’s not important,” Alden said, his voice rougher than usual.
“Didn’t ask if she was important,” I said, flicking a crumb off my thigh. “Asked if she was in your bed.”
Zeke cut in. “She played her part. That’s all you need to know.”
“I’ll decide what I need to know,” I said. “Thanks though.”
Trace’s voice was low and even. “It was never her.”
I met his eyes, something old and molten pooling in my chest. “You sure about that?”
He held my stare. “It’s you.”
My stomach dipped. My head swam.
“Good,” I said, setting the mug down. “Because if I’m going to survive this insanity, I need to know who’s screwed who.”
“You’re bold in the mornings,” Rhett said.
I popped a grape in my mouth. “I’m bold all the time. Mornings just make me funnier.”
Kane leaned toward Zeke, stage-whispering, “Ten bucks says she starts interviewing us.”
I stood, brushing invisible dust from my legs. “I don’t need to interview you. I already know.”
Zeke raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”
I gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Not yet. But I will.”
Then I stepped off the porch.
The sun burned hotter. Something in my chest did, too.
Scarlett
The ocean was quieter this morning.
Not still. Not calm. But quieter—like it was waiting.
My mouth tasted like sin and wine and everything that had happened last night. I just needed to clear my head—not just from the hangover, but from never getting a damn second to myself. The path leading down the hill curved gently, the stone warm beneath my bare feet. Palm shadows flickered along the edges like ghosts.
And then—
“Rough night?”
I stopped short. Brielle was already there, leaning against the railing that overlooked the cliffs, wind dragging her dark waves across her cheek. She didn’t look surprised to see me.
