Page 99 of The Reckoning
“Drew helped us,” I say, making the decision for all of us. “After everything that happened, if he wants us there, we should go.”
I text him back.We’ll be there.
The drive to the Mill House feels surreal. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting everything in that golden hour light that makes the world look like it’s been dipped in honey. I keep catching myself watching Lilian in the passenger seat. She’s quiet, her blue eyes distant as she stares out at the familiar landscape rolling past.
Her blond hair is styled in soft waves around her face, and the black fabric of her dress pools elegantly in her lap. Arson drives with his usual precise control, but I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way his knuckles are white against the steering wheel.
When we pull up to the Mill House property, the first thing that hits me is the smell—smoke and ash linger in the evening air like a ghost of destruction. The house itself is mostly gone, just blackened timber bones reaching toward the sky like the skeleton of some massive beast. Yellow police tape flutters in the breeze, cordoning off the worst of the damage, and I can see wisps of smoke still curling up from some of the deeper recesses of what used to be the foundation.
But on the lawn, away from the destruction, there’s pure magic.
The setup sprawls across the grass like something out of a fairy tale. Massive cream-colored blankets spread in overlapping circles, their edges weighted down with small stones wrapped in gold ribbon. Elevated serving platters rise at different heights, creating layers of food that catch the dying light—charcuterie boards loaded with aged cheeses and cured meats, towers of macarons in every color imaginable, delicate finger sandwiches cut into perfect triangles. LED candles are scattered everywhere,hundreds of them, casting warm pools of flickering light that dance across the grass and make the whole scene glow like we’re sitting inside a constellation.
Champagne bottles stand in elegant ice buckets placed strategically around the blankets, their labels catching glints of candlelight.
Crystal glasses—actual crystal, not plastic—wait in neat rows, and I can hear soft classical music drifting from hidden speakers somewhere in the trees.
The others are already there, and seeing them all dressed up like this takes my breath away. We’ve been through hell together, but tonight, we look like we stepped out of some elegant magazine spread.
Drew stands near the edge of the blankets, and I barely recognize him. His usually messy brown hair is slicked back with just enough product to tame the waves, and he’s wearing a black tuxedo that fits him perfectly. The bow tie hangs loose around his neck, giving him that effortlessly disheveled look that somehow makes the formal wear seem natural on him. Those green eyes of his catch the dying light as he waves us over, and there’s something different in his expression—lighter, maybe. Like a weight has been lifted.
Bel sits cross-legged on one of the blankets, her silver sequined gown spread around her like liquid mercury. The fabric catches the candlelight with every breath she takes, sending tiny sparkles dancing across the grass. Her long blond hair falls in perfect waves over one shoulder, and her green eyes are bright with laughter at something Sebastian just said. She looks radiant, glowing in a way that has nothing to do with the dress.
Sebastian stands behind her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder, and he’s every inch the polished heir in his immaculate black suit. His dirty-blond hair is styled to perfection, not astrand out of place, and his shoes gleam like mirrors even in the soft light. But there’s something relaxed about his posture tonight, like he’s finally allowed himself to just be instead of performing.
Ely sits beside them, her brown hair twisted up in an elegant knot that shows off the graceful line of her neck. Her black gown hugs her fuller figure beautifully, and she’s glowing with that contentment that comes from being exactly where you want to be. She holds hands with Sebastian, their fingers intertwined above her head before she releases him, and there’s something peaceful about the way she leans into his legs.
Lee has already made himself comfortable, his tux jacket open over a white dress shirt he’s only bothered to button halfway up his chest. His boots sit abandoned on the grass beside the blanket, and he’s stretched out with his bare feet tucked under the edge of the fabric. His gray eyes are bright with mischief, and his unkempt brown hair looks like he ran his fingers through it—which he probably did. Even dressed up, he manages to look like he just rolled out of bed, but somehow it works on him.
Salem perches gracefully on his lap, her burgundy gown a rich contrast to his white shirt. Her brown hair is pulled back in a tight, severe bun that emphasizes the elegant line of her neck, and she’s wearing matching burgundy gloves that button at her wrists like she’s dressed for some grand opera. Her brown eyes are soft as she looks down at Lee, and there’s something intimate about the way she adjusts his collar without even thinking about it.
We walk up together—Lilian between Arson and me, all three of us in black like we’re attending the world’s most elegant funeral. Maybe we are, in a way. I don’t know... I’m on a shit ton of painkillers, and everything seems fun right now.
“Welcome to the wake,” Drew says with that crooked smile of his, gesturing grandly at the spread behind him. “Figured we should send off the old girl in style.”
I look at the ruins of the Mill House, at the place that held so many memories—good and terrible both. The skeleton of the building looms behind us like a monument to everything we’ve lost and survived. “You’re not going to rebuild?”
Drew shakes his head, something resolute settling in his expression. “Nah. That place became something twisted. A monument to corruption and secrets and all the ways power can poison people. Better to let it burn and start fresh somewhere else.”
We settle onto the blankets, the fabric soft and warm beneath us. Someone—Drew, probably—has thought of everything. Small cushions are scattered around for comfort, and the blankets themselves are thick enough that we’re not feeling every bump and root in the ground. I find myself between Lilian and Bel, with Arson settling on Lilian’s other side like we’re unconsciously forming our own little protective circle.
Drew pops the first champagne bottle with theatrical flair, the cork flying off into the gathering dusk with a satisfying pop. The sound makes Salem jump slightly, and Lee laughs, his arm tightening around her waist. The champagne foams over the rim of the bottle, and Drew catches it expertly in one of the crystal glasses.
“Christ, Marshall,” Sebastian says, accepting a glass. “When you decide to do something, you don’t mess around.”
“Go big or go home,” Drew replies, pouring glass after glass with practiced ease. “Besides, we deserved something beautiful after all the ugly.”
The bubbles tickle my nose as I take my first sip, and the champagne is better than anything I’ve ever tasted—crisp andclean with just a hint of sweetness. For the first time in weeks, I feel something like peace settling in my chest.
Lilian reaches for one of the charcuterie boards, loading a small plate with cheese and grapes. Her movements are graceful, deliberate, and I watch the way the candlelight plays across her face as she concentrates on arranging the food just so. When she offers me a bite of aged brie on a water cracker, her fingers brush mine, and the contact sends warmth shooting up my arm.
“This is incredible,” Ely says, gesturing at the spread around us. “How did you even organize all of this?”
Drew shrugs, but there’s pride in his expression. “Called in a few favors. Figured if we were going to say goodbye to this place, we should do it right.” He takes a sip of champagne and looks back at the burned shell of the house. “It deserved better than just letting it rot.”
“It held a lot of memories,” Bel says softly, following his gaze. Her voice carries that wistful quality it gets when she’s thinking about the past. “Good ones and bad ones.”
“More good than bad, I think,” Lee adds, surprising us all.
