109. Trace
Trace
I took the long way to her villa.
Figured she’d be dragging this morning—head pounding, mouth dry, probably half-buried in blankets still wearing someone else’s shirt.
Sunlight was filtering through the trees in ribbons, soft and harmless. The island didn’t feel different. But something was.
Her door was cracked.
I knocked once and leaned into the frame, waiting for a groggy “go away” or something worse.
Nothing.
“Scarlett?” I called, quieter.
Still nothing.
My frown deepened as I stepped onto the porch. I angled toward the window and cupped a hand to the glass. The room inside was still wrapped in shadows. Curtains drawn. Lights off.
That wasn’t like her.
I opened the door wider, half-expecting to find her passed out on the couch or maybe in the bath again. But the place was still. Undisturbed.
It took me a second to realize what felt wrong.
I walked the perimeter. Checked the bedroom. Nothing. The bathroom—dry. Not a single drip from the faucet. No smudge of makeup on the counter.
No robe hanging on the hook. Patio—empty.
No clothes on the floor. No towel from the bath. No scent of her perfume or coffee or whatever candle she lit before bed.
The bathroom empty. No robe. No wet footprints on the tile.
A slow dread unfurled down my spine.
I stepped back into the main room, pulse starting to rise.
I moved faster than I meant to, straight out the door and toward the others.
The villa’s quiet smirked at me. Something was off. I could feel it. Hear it in the stillness.
When I reached the kitchen, Kane and Rhett were already halfway through breakfast.
“She with you?” I asked.
They both looked up. Blank expressions, blinking slow.
Rhett’s brow creased. “Should she be?”
“No,” Kane said slowly. “She’s not.” The silence that followed hit harder than I expected.
I looked toward Zeke, who was sitting at the far end of the table, fingers laced around a cup of black coffee.
“You saw her,” I said.
He nodded once. “She came to the villa last night.”
“You didn’t think to fucking mention that?”
“She came to my villa—looking for me.” he said, calm as stone. “But Brielle was already there. Scarlett saw her, asked to speak to her alone and I let them.”
“Why the hell was Brielle in your room?” Kane asked, straightening his chair.
Zeke didn’t look away. “She showed up. She wasn’t supposed to stay. Scarlett walked in—and they decided to talk.”
“And you let that happen?” My voice scraped raw. “You just let them leave?”
“She didn’t tell me she was leaving. Just that she needed answers.”
I dragged both hands through my hair, pacing a short, jagged line.
I stared at him. “You don’t know where they went?”
He shook his head once. “No.”
I turned away, dragging both hands down my face. My pulse was spiking now, pounding against my ribs like it knew something I didn’t.
“She didn’t leave a note?” Rhett asked, already moving toward the hallway.
“She didn’t leave a fucking thing,” I snapped.
“She’s not dumb,” Kane said. “She must’ve had a reason.”
“She had a reason,” I muttered, grabbing my jacket off the back of a chair. “She just didn’t trust us with it.”
Rhett stepped closer. “Where are you going?”
“To find her.”
“Trace—”
“I don’t care what she wanted. I don’t care what she’s trying to prove.”
The words came out sharper now, closer to the edge. “She’s not supposed to face this alone.”
Zeke’s eyes met mine. “She chose to.”
And that was the problem.
She didn’t run. She chose.
But that didn’t mean I’d let her stay gone.
Not without a fight.