Page 149 of Without a Trace
The others kept talking, but the sound blurred at the edges. For a moment, the drinks and laughter were enough. I didn’tneed to understand everything. I didn’t need to figure out where I came from or why I couldn’t remember.
I just needed this. The night. The warmth. The pull of something sharp and alive.
The conversation drifted into pockets—Zeke updating them on the files he found, Rhett teasing Kane about losing the lighter again, Alden still quiet, tracing patterns into the condensation on his bottle.
My plate sat mostly untouched. I wasn’t hungry. Not for food, anyway.
“You gonna eat?” Rhett asked, nudging the edge of my dish with his fork. “Or are you sustaining yourself purely on rage and rebellion now?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He grinned and leaned back, throwing his arm over the back of Trace’s chair like they’d been on this island for years.
The firelight caught the edge of Alden’s jaw. His focus flicked to the horizon and stayed there.
I watched him, then Trace, then Zeke—who hadn’t sat all night. He just paced the edge of the table, checking his phone like it owed him answers.
“This is a mistake,” Zeke muttered. “We should’ve moved locations after last night.”
“We’ve barely slept,” Trace said, voice calm. “We need tonight.”
Zeke didn’t answer.
I tore off a piece of bread and rolled it between my fingers. “So, let me get this straight,” I said. “You bonded me without meaning to. The Order’s pissed. And we’re just… playing dinner party until they show up?”
Kane raised his glass. “Hell yeah.”
“Great,” I said flatly.
“Look,” Rhett offered, more serious now. “We’re not just sitting around for fun. We’re regrouping. You had your first session today. That was the plan. Tomorrow, we push harder.”
“And Zeke keeps digging,” Trace added.
A gust of wind cut across the beach. My hair whipped into my mouth. I didn’t bother smoothing it down.
Alden finally spoke. “There’s more in the Codex. Something about three-point bonds and lineage interference. But the language is fragmented. Faded. A page is missing, torn out.”
“Faded?” I repeated. “That’s convenient.”
“It’s ancient,” Zeke snapped. “You think the people who wrote this crap had a crystal ball and a printer?”
The table quieted. Even Rhett didn’t joke.
Trace’s hand brushed against mine beneath the table. Not a hold. Not a reach. Just grounding. I didn’t pull away.
“I’ll take the curse,” I said. “But I’m not taking the silence.”
Kane glanced around the table. “Can we at least pretend for five minutes this isn’t about to spiral?”
As if summoned by the universe itself—the impossible timing of chaos—the wind shifted again.
And the sound of heels on sand cut through the night.
Every head turned.
“Well, well. Isn’t this cozy.” She grinned.
She let the breeze carry her onto the deck where we sat at the table, hips swaying as if she was walking into her own goddamn coronation.
