Page 170 of Without a Trace
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I skipped dinner.
Couldn’t sit there—under the weight of their eyes, their worry, the way walls still smelled faintly of smoke. I hadn’t killedanyone, but my hands still felt dirty. My skins still hummed with the ghost of impact. Someone bled tonight. that meant something.
But the villa was too quiet.
I walked down the path, drawn by the flicker of firelight and the sound of low voices carried on the wind.
They were on the beach.
Kane. Rhett. Alden. Zeke. Even Trace.
All gathered around a fire, drinks in hand, clothes rumpled, eyes tired. The kind of fire people make when they’re trying to remember they’re still alive.
They were laughing.
Not like it was funny. Like it was necessary.
I lingered near the trees.
Trace leaned back in the sand, bottle in hand, head tipped toward the stars. Alden had a cut on his cheek he hadn’t cleaned yet. Kane telling some story, hands moving. Rhett laughed too hard and winced when he grabbed his shoulder.
And Zeke just watched them all.
They looked normal.
Almost.
But I knew better.
And maybe… maybe I didn’t want to be alone tonight after all.
I walked toward them.
Kane spotted me first. “Well look who finally decided to stop sulking.”
I flipped him off without slowing down.
Rhett laughed again. “There she is.”
I didn’t speak. Just grabbed the bottle of tequila near the fire pit and poured myself a glass.
The boys went quiet for half a second.
Trace straightened. “You sure?”
I raised the glass, met his eyes, and knocked it back.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
And they let me sit. No questions. No apologies.
Just the fire, the ocean, and whatever was left of us.
Scarlett
The tequila hit slow.
