62. Scarlett
Scarlett
I slipped off my heels at the edge of the deck and carried them in one hand as we followed the lantern-lit path down to the firepit. The sand was cool under my feet, soft and grounding after too much wine and too many things unsaid.
We sprawled into a lazy circle—me with a drink in one hand, my toes buried in the grainy hush of the beach, the fire crackling low and steady. The waves kept time behind us, slow and endless.
No one was trying to impress anymore. Not really.
Kane passed me the bottle, and I nodded my thanks.
The waves licked the shore behind us, steady and slow, the ocean pretending it wasn’t in on whatever we were becoming out here.
“You ever think about what you’d be doing if all this shit hadn’t happened?” I asked, voice loose, a little slurred.
“Dead probably,” Kane muttered.
Rhett laughed. “Jesus.”
“I mean it,” Kane said. “I wasn’t built for anything else. Not really.”
I tilted my head, studying him through the firelight. “You’re smarter than you pretend to be.”
He lifted his glass. “Yeah. Don’t tell anyone.”
My eyes drifted to Rhett. “What about you?”
He took a sip before answering. “I don’t know. Something normal. Maybe a mechanic. Or a bartender. Something with my hands.”
Alden snorted. “You would’ve made a terrible bartender.”
Rhett grinned. “Yeah, but the tips would’ve been insane.”
I turned to Trace. “What about you, Maddox?”
He didn’t flinch. Just shifted, elbows on his knees, firelight catching on the edge of his face.
“I’d still be here,” he said, voice low. “Still be finding ways to orbit you.”
The fire popped.
I stared into the flames, my voice quieter now. “I’ve been trying to put two and two together. Ever since the plane… the way you talk to each other. The way you move, guard each other, watch the exits even when you’re pretending not to. You’re all in something.”
No one jumped to deny it. Just silence. So I did what I always do, I pushed.
“You all ever regret it?” I asked, voice quieter now. “Joining. Staying.”
Alden stared into the fire like it owed him an answer. “It’s not about regret. It’s about surviving what you chose.”
I leaned back on my hands, eyes narrowed. “So what is it? This thing you’re all in. What’s it actually called?”
The silence that followed wasn’t casual.
Trace glanced up from the waterline but didn’t turn around.
Rhett shifted, suddenly interested in the fire again.
Something cold moved along the base of my spine.
I’d seen it.
Not out loud. Not clearly. But it had been there.
Scrawled in black ink on the corner of a file Zeke was reviewing on the plane. Whispered in the way Kane stiffened when someone mentioned an order. Murmured in Trace’s sleep, maybe—unless I’d imagined that part.
A pattern I hadn’t been able to name until now.
Alden took a slow drink, then met my eyes. “You already know.”
I tilted my head, voice softer. “Say it anyway.”
He exhaled. “The Hollow Order.”
It echoed between us sacred. Cursed.
I nodded once.
Didn’t say another word.
Because it felt like something I’d always known.
And I didn’t know why.
Someone passed me another drink—Alden, maybe Kane—the heat of it slid down my throat like a second heartbeat. The flames danced in their eyes, and I swear I could feel each of them watching me for different reasons.
We were drinking a lot. But it’s not about getting drunk. It’s about staying warm. Staying loose. Staying just blurry enough that the truth didn’t cut to deep when it started to bleed through the edges.
I stretched my legs toward the fire, and crossed my ankles in the sand, the flames painting gold along our skin. I could feel them watching me for different reasons. Some protective, some curious, some I didn’t dare name yet.
My voice came out soft, almost playful. “So, what does it mean?”
Rhett blinked. “What does what mean?”
“The Hollow Order. Sounds like a cult. Or a secret society. Or one of those dark web chess clubs where everyone wears robes and speaks in riddles.”
Trace didn’t turn from the ocean. “It means exactly what it sounds like.”
Kane laughed under his breath. “Cryptic as fuck, man.”
I smirked. “Come on. Give me something.”
Alden ran a hand through his hair and looked at the fire. “It’s a name. A warning. A family. Depends who you ask.”
“And if I ask you?”
He looked up at me, something unreadable in his eyes. “Then it means whatever you want it to mean.”
I leaned toward him, chin in hand. “That’s a terrible answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting, Love.”
Rhett's mouth tugged into a lopsided grin. “You really want to know all of it?”
“I want to know what you’re all willing to say when your guards are down.”
“Bold,” he said.
I sipped my drink. “Always.”
Kane let out a low whistle. “I don’t know whether to fear you or follow you.”
“You already do both,” I said without missing a beat.
They looked different in the firelight—tired, softer. Beautiful in the way broken things sometimes are. And for a second, I let myself feel it. The warmth. The quiet. The strange intimacy of being out in the open with people who carried more secrets than weapons.
I stared into the flames.
“How did you all end up in it? “I asked.
Alden stood, stretching slowly, gaze flickering towards the ocean. “That’s a story for another night.”
“Convenient,” I muttered.
He smirked. “Necessary.”
Rhett raised his glass to me. “Don’t worry, Monroe. You’ll know everything eventually.”
The flames flickered.
And I wondered if knowing everything was the scariest part of all.