Page 81 of Without a Trace
They think she’s just spiraling.
They’re wrong.
She’s aligning.
The blood in her veins? It’s not just hers. It’s legacy. War. Power no one’s prepared for. Not even her.
But I am.
She’s the heir, whether they want to admit it or not. And if they keep treating her like a wildcard, if they keep fucking around trying to control her—
She’s going to burn this whole game to the ground.
And I’ll be right there, watching it fall.
Because someone has to be ready when the girl with fire in her blood finally realizes she’s the goddamn flame.
Scarlett
Ididn’t come down until mid-afternoon the next day.
The house had quieted by then—everyone walking on eggshells, waiting for me to either explode or disappear completely.
I did neither.
Just slipped out the side door with a mug of lukewarm coffee Hemingway on my heels, and sank into the porch swing like gravity had finally caught up to me.
The sky hung heavy, overcast and gray, as if the storm hadn’t left so much as drained the world and left it hollow.
The screen door creaked a few minutes later.
Sloane stepped out followed by Lena.
They didn’t speak.
Just sat. One on each side.
We rocked in silence for a while.
Lena was the first to speak. “You scared me last night.”
Her voice wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even disappointed.
It was tired. Honest.
Sloane took a long sip from her water bottle. “That wasn’t you last night.”
I let the swing sway.
“It was,” I said finally. “Just a version of me I don’t usually let out.”
Hemingway settled into my lap, a weighted reminder that softness still existed.
Lena’s fingers picked at the edge of her hoodie. “You didn’t just push the limit, Scar. You lit it on fire and dared it to hold.”
I didn’t respond.
She turned slightly to face me, her green eyes soft but direct. “You’re allowed to lose it. But you don’t get to pretend it doesn’t affect the people who love you.”
