53. Sloane
Sloane
T he sound of tires on gravel was too loud for the kind of quiet we’d been sitting in.
Scarlett didn’t even look up.
Her eyes tracked nothing—just fixed on the horizon like it might offer answers none of us could.
Lena sat beside her, knuckles white around her mug. I perched on the porch railing, arms around my knees, the weight of everything pressing against my ribs.
We all knew who it was before the engine even cut.
Zeke.
The black SUV stopped at the base of the drive like it had been summoned. A moment later, the door opened, and he stepped out—smooth, controlled, like always. Like he hadn’t been part of the chaos, just arrived exactly when the match was burned out.
A flicker of something tightened in Scarlett’s expression, but she stayed quiet..
He didn’t come all the way up.
Just stood at the bottom of the porch stairs and looked at her, hands in his pockets, posture loose but deliberate.
“It’s time,” he said.
Scarlett finally blinked. “Time for what?”
Zeke’s expression didn’t change. “To go.”
Trace pushed through the door behind us, Alden right on his heels.
“No,” Trace said. “We don’t move until we know what we’re walking into.”
Zekes expression barely shifted. “They’re coming. And they’re not being quiet anymore.”
Lena leaned into Scarlett, shoulder to shoulder, as if shielding her from something none of us could see yet.
I slid off the swing, feet hitting the floor with more force than I meant. “Where exactly are we going?”
Zeke looked at me. Then at Scarlett.
“Someplace safe. Off-grid. You’ll be protected. Watched.”
Scarlett finally spoke. Voice low. “I’m already being watched.”
Zeke didn’t deny it.
No one moved. No one breathed.
Trace’s fists curled. Alden’s arms folded. Rhett stood in the doorway, still and silent.
We all felt it.
This wasn’t a suggestion.
It was a shift.
Scarlett didn’t rise.
She didn’t argue.
She just breathed out—long, steady, carved with exhaustion. “Give me a fucking minute.”
And Zeke nodded, like he already knew she’d say yes.