92. Trace
Trace
S carlett angled toward Brielle, her knee brushing Alden’s beneath the table.
Her posture was relaxed—too relaxed. One arm draped over the back of Alden’s chair, the other wrapped around her wine glass.
Regal. Reckless. Glowing with the kind of confidence that made everyone forget she’d shattered just hours ago.
“So,” she said smoothly, “you still haven’t answered my question.”
Brielle tilted her head, red-painted mouth curled in amusement. “Which one, sweetheart? You ask a lot.”
She always had. Even back then. Bold questions. No filter. No fear. The kind of girl who didn’t just walk into a room—she cracked it open.
Scarlett’s smirk sharpened. “How you found us. Or maybe how long you’ve been slithering around the Order, pretending you don’t have your own agenda.”
Alden shifted, just slightly—elbow brushing hers in silent warning.
Zeke stayed quiet, but his eyes flicked toward Brielle with a shadow that said he already had theories. Brielle wasn’t fazed. If anything, she looked like she’d been waiting for this.
“Oh, Scar,” Brielle said sweetly. “They really haven’t told you everything, have they?”
A chill crept up my spine.
Scarlett’s voice was honey-laced venom. “Maybe you should enlighten me.”
Brielle’s gaze swept the table, then landed on me—sharp, knowing. “Funny. They always thought they could keep you out of it. Keep you safe.”
“And yet,” Scarlett drawled. “Here I am. Bonded. Trained. Eating dinner with the enemy.”
I watched her mouth move, her fingers still playing with the stem of her glass, her tone unfazed. But I knew better. I knew that performance. I’d seen it the night her world broke open and she refused to show the crack.
And still—still—I wanted her.
Even if she never looked at me the same way again.
Even if the bond burned like a fuse I couldn’t stop.
Even if Alden had her now.
The laughter died down. Forks scraped against empty plates, drinks more than half gone. The moon had crept higher above the bay, casting silver ripples across the water.
Scarlett stood, her chair sliding back with a screech that cut through the tables lull. She didn’t need theatrics—her silence did enough damage.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said lightly, too lightly. “But I’m done playing twenty questions.”
“Where are you going?” Rhett asked, blinking blearily at her.
“Anywhere but here.”
She didn’t wait for a response.
I was up before I realized I’d moved.
Zeke caught my eye, but he didn’t stop me. No one did.
I followed her across the stone path. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t slow. Just kept walking toward her villa like the night could swallow her whole if she let it.
Behind me, I heard Brielle’s voice float through the stillness.
“I kinda like her,” she said, dry and amused. “You boys are screwed.”
She wasn’t wrong.
But she didn’t know the half of it.