46. Scarlett
Scarlett
I didn’t speak on the walk back up the hill.
Didn’t stop at the kitchen. Didn’t look at anyone. Just slipped inside the house and went straight up the stairs like I hadn’t just been cracked open on the dock.
The hallway smelled like wood and dust and last night’s secrets.
I pushed open the bedroom door, dropping onto the edge of the bed, breathing like I’d run a mile.
Lena appeared in the doorway first, followed by Sloane.
They looked at me like I was a bomb they weren’t sure how to handle.
“Are you okay?” Lena asked, stepping in slowly.
“No.”
Sloane flopped onto the bed beside me, legs crossed. “Okay, so what the fuck is going on?”
I stared at the wall. “I wish I knew.”
“You said something earlier—about secrets. About them lying. Who were you talking about?”
I shook my head. “All of them.”
Sloane blinked. “Even Alden?”
“Especially Alden.”
Lena sat on the floor in front of me. Worry pooling in her eyes. “Scar… are you in danger?”
“I don’t know.”
The silence stretched. Out of nowhere, Hemingway jumped up onto the bed and curled against my leg. His warmth was immediate and grounding, like he knew I needed something alive and steady.
I ran a hand over his fur, blinking back the sting in my eyes.
“Maybe I’m just being dramatic.”
“You’re not,” Lena said softly.
“You never are,” Sloane added. “You’re just… intense. It’s kind of your thing.”
I laughed, hollow. “Well, the thing’s not working anymore.”
There was a knock on the door.
All three of us froze.
Lena stood. “I’ll get it.”
She opened the door just enough to see.
A pause.
“It’s Trace. And Alden.”
I tensed.
Sloane looked between us. “Want us to stay?”
I swallowed. “No. I’ll talk to them.”
Lena gave me a look. “Scream if they’re weird.”
“I’ll scream either way.”
I sat there with Hemingway in my lap, my heart thudding, waiting for the two men I no longer knew how to look at to step into the room.
I didn’t stand when they came in.
Trace shut the door behind them. Alden hovered just inside, his hands shoved in his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.
Neither of them spoke.
I looked at Hemingway, curled in my lap like he was the only thing that hadn’t lied to. Then I looked at the two of them. These boys. These... liars.
“Well?” I said. “Which one of you is going to start the speech? The one where you finally admit you’ve been playing secret agents while I’ve been sleeping in the middle of a war zone?”
I moved Hemingway off my lap and stood, slow.
“Because it sure fucking feels like that.”
I paused—then added, quieter, bitter,
“And if this ends with you trying to drag me off to some safe-house, you better start figuring out how to earn my trust back. Because whatever’s coming, you don’t get to protect me unless I say so.”
Trace took a step forward, hand dragging down his face like he was trying to keep it together. “Scarlett—”
“No,” I snapped. “Do not say my name like you still get to.”
The silence crackled.
I laughed. It was sharp. Ugly. “You know, I used to think you were both just emotionally constipated. Turns out, you’re something worse. You’re cowards.”
“We didn’t want to hurt you,” Trace said, voice rough.
“Too fucking late.”
Alden’s voice was low. “We were trying to protect you.”
“From what?” I snapped. “From yourselves?”
He looked at Trace. And that told me everything.
My stomach twisted. “Oh my god. This isn’t about me. It’s about something bigger, isn’t it? Something you’re both too scared to say out loud.”
Traces voice was strained. “Eventually… we’re going to have to take you somewhere safe, when the time comes you’re going to need to trust us.”
I froze.
“So what is it? You’re part of some club? A cult? A secret society that makes you swear on your dicks or something?”
Trace rubbed his jaw. Gaze dark. “It’s complicated.”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I didn’t flinch.
“Try me.”
Alden’s voice was quieter. “It started years ago. Before we met you.”
I blinked. “And you never thought to mention it?”
Trace looked me dead in the eye. “If you knew what we’ve done… what we’re tied to… you wouldn’t look at us the same.”
My throat tightened.
Was I supposed to cry now? Throw something? Or just stand here and pretend this wasn’t the worst moment of my life.
“Who says I ever really saw you?”
That landed.
Trace stepped back like I’d hit him clean in the chest.
“Why me?” I demanded. Heat rising up my neck. “Why am I the fucking center of this? Why am I the one being lied to, watched, followed—what the hell do I have to do with anything?”
“You’re not the center,” Alden said. “You’re the anchor.”
That stunned me. What the hell does that even mean? My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
“You’re the only thing keeping any of this from falling apart.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
So I didn’t.
I stared at them for a long moment. At the wreckage of who we used to be. At the fucking lies still thick in their throats.
And then I whispered, cold and even, “You’re not protecting me. You’re just delaying the part where I hate you. Just get out.”
I walked to the door, hand shaking, and slammed it behind them so hard the frame rattled.