Page 213 of Without a Trace
“I didn’t plan it,” Trace said, voice strained. His grip tightened around the glass. “You think any of us wanted this?”
“You didn’t stop it either,” Zeke said.
“None of us did,” Rhett added.
I drank.
The burn was the only thing that felt honest.
“I’m still here, you know,” I said quietly.
They all turned.
“I can hear you.”
Kane’s mouth opened, then closed.
Zeke exhaled. “We’re just trying to figure it out, Scar.”
I smiled. “Then drink faster.”
And I tipped the glass again.
I don’t know how many drinks I’d had.
Enough that the fire looked blurry, and the boys looked softer around the edges.
Enough that I didn’t care who was watching.
They were all still talking in circles, trying to find a way out of prophecy with logic and guilt. Trace hadn’t moved from the chair across from me. Alden stood near the kitchen now, one hand braced on the edge of the counter, the other fisting like he was trying to hold something in. Kane had gone quiet while Rhett just kept drinking. Zeke somewhere down the hall, probably trying not to kill all of us.
I leaned back on the couch, my legs stretched across the cushions like I owned the place.
And maybe I did.
“I didn’t choose this,” I said. “But I’m not running from it either.”
Alden went still, tension coiled through his shoulders. Trace didn’t speak, his knuckles pale against the armrest. Zeke walkedback in expression darkened, unreadable, like he was already piecing together a new threat.
I lifted the glass again. “So you can talk around me all you want. Strategize. Blame. Drink. But this time—I lead.”
Silence.
Zeke muttered under his breath, shaking his head once. “Well, damn. Looks like someone finally remembered who the fuck she is.”
The fire hissed low behind me, as if it, too, held its breath.
Rhett lowered his glass first, something reverent flickering across his face. Kane didn’t speak, just leaned forward like he was seeing me differently now—not as the girl they’d protected, but the storm that had always been waiting to rise.
Alden stayed frozen, one hand curled tight on his knee. His gaze was locked on mine. Not with doubt—but with something weightier. Respect. Grief. Love. He’d known this would happen. Maybe he’d always known.
“You lead. We follow,” Trace said, crossing the room, glass still in his hand, but his eyes were only on me.
I turned slightly, eyes sweeping over all of them.
“Then we start tomorrow,” I said. “Training. Codex research. Answers. I want to know everything. About the bond. About the Red Veil. About what they feared enough to hide me.”
Zeke gave a single nod. “You’ll have it.”
