Page 47 of Without a Trace

---

“Alright,” Sloane said, lifting her drink. “We need rules. Let’s play something real.”

“Never Have I Ever?” Lena offered.

“Too safe,” I said. “Let’s doMost Likely To.”

A few groaned, a few laughed.

“I like it,” Kane said. “High potential for emotional damage.”

We went around in a loose, lazy circle. Most likely to sleep through a fire alarm—Rhett. Most likely to accidentally marrysomeone in Vegas—me—rude but fair. Most likely to join a cult—Lena, to her horror.

Then someone—Rhett, I think—

“Most likely to catch feelings and never admit it.”

Sloane’s hand hovered, hesitating. Rhett looked over at me. No one reached for their drinks until I lifted my glass and took a slow sip.

Sloane followed.

Then Trace. Quietly.

Alden sat back, shoulders squared. Daring me to push.

I didn’t look at any of them.

Lena tried to change the subject, but the mood had already shifted.

The next round came with more edge. More bite. More glances that lingered too long. Everything cracked a little deeper.

I was tipsy and flushed and couldn’t remember the last time I felt so seen and so completely invisible all at once.

But I kept smiling.

Because what else was I supposed to do?

The music thumped. Wind threading through the deck, and somewhere deep inside, something cracked.

We didn’t stop.

The drinks kept coming, the circle stayed close. The questions got sharper. It was that perfect storm of being sun-tired and wine-loose, our guards slipping with every sarcastic jab and loaded look.

“Most likely to disappear without telling anyone,” Kane said, grinning like a devil.

Everyone looked at Trace. He didn’t flinch.

Sloane drank.

So, did I.

“Wow,” Rhett muttered. “Two for two.”

“Some of us like mystery,” I said, flipping my hair over one shoulder.

Kane leaned in. “Some of us like sabotage.”

That got a laugh—too loud, too real.

Lena sat quietly, sipping from her cup, cheeks pink.

---