Page 83 of Without a Trace
I slid off the swing, feet hitting the floor with more force than I meant. “Where exactly are we going?”
Zeke looked at me. Then at Scarlett.
“Someplace safe. Off-grid. You’ll be protected. Watched.”
Scarlett finally spoke. Voice low. “I’m already being watched.”
Zeke didn’t deny it.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Trace’s fists curled. Alden’s arms folded. Rhett stood in the doorway, still and silent.
We all felt it.
This wasn’t a suggestion.
It was a shift.
Scarlett didn’t rise.
She didn’t argue.
She just breathed out—long, steady, carved with exhaustion. “Give me a fucking minute.”
And Zeke nodded, like he already knew she’d say yes.
Scarlett
Ididn’t move right away.
The porch creaked beneath me, wood sun-warmed under bare feet. My coffee sits untouched. My fingers curl tighter around the edge of the swing, white-knuckled.
Go.
Leave.
It wasn’t a request.
It was a sentence.
I stared out at the trees, pretending like I wasn’t shaking on the inside. Like my fingers weren’t gripping the edge of the swing a little too hard.
The others stayed quiet. Trace looked like he might explode. Alden wouldn’t meet my eyes.
Zeke stood like a fucking statue at the bottom of the stairs, and for a second, I hated how calm he looked. Like he already knew I’d follow.
Maybe I did too.
Eventually, I stood.
Sloane rose from the porch rail, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “Scar—”
I shook my head once. “Not now. Not unless you’re going to tell me who I am. What I am. Why they all keep looking at me like I already chose something I never got the chance to understand.”
She didn’t say anything else. Just watched me, afraid this was the last time.
And maybe it was.
