98. Scarlett
Scarlett
I needed out.
Out of the villas.
Out of their voices.
Out of this blood-soaked storm unraveling around me.
And I needed to stop fucking shaking.
I walked until the lights from the villas disappeared behind me, until the jungle swallowed the sound of the others and all I could hear was my own breathing. Rough. Sharp.
They’d found us.
They weren’t supposed to. Not here. Not this fast.
And someone knew exactly where to look.
I leaned against a tree, the bark rough against my back, trying to piece it all together.
They’d said there were three. Zeke took one down. Trace shot another. But that third—the one near the back—he’d gotten too close. Too fast.
That wasn’t luck.
That was access.
And I hated how that knowledge beat inside me. Heavy. Loud.
I thought of Rhett—laughing through pain. Alden’s hand stained with blood. Kane calling out in the dark. Trace—desperate, fucking wrecked. Zeke… calculating.
They all had reasons to be here.
But one of them could have a reason not to be.
My stomach twisted.
Was it Alden? He was quiet when the gunfire started. Too quiet. But that could’ve been focus.
Was it Kane? He was off tonight. Distracted.
Zeke? He always knew more than he said.
Rhett? No. I refused to believe it.
Trace…
God. What if it was Trace?
What if everything—every kiss, every look—was a setup from the start?
I pressed my fist to my chest and breathed.
No. It couldn’t be.
But then again… wasn’t that the point?
You don’t spot a traitor until he’s close enough to make it hurt.
I pushed off the tree.
I wasn’t going to wait for another attack.
I’d find out the truth.
And if one of them was the reason I bled tonight—
They’d learn exactly what kind of fire they lit.
***
I skipped dinner.
Couldn’t sit there—under the weight of their eyes, their worry, the way walls still smelled faintly of smoke. I hadn’t killed anyone, but my hands still felt dirty. My skins still hummed with the ghost of impact. Someone bled tonight. that meant something.
But the villa was too quiet.
I walked down the path, drawn by the flicker of firelight and the sound of low voices carried on the wind.
They were on the beach.
Kane. Rhett. Alden. Zeke. Even Trace.
All gathered around a fire, drinks in hand, clothes rumpled, eyes tired. The kind of fire people make when they’re trying to remember they’re still alive.
They were laughing.
Not like it was funny. Like it was necessary.
I lingered near the trees.
Trace leaned back in the sand, bottle in hand, head tipped toward the stars. Alden had a cut on his cheek he hadn’t cleaned yet. Kane telling some story, hands moving. Rhett laughed too hard and winced when he grabbed his shoulder.
And Zeke just watched them all.
They looked normal.
Almost.
But I knew better.
And maybe… maybe I didn’t want to be alone tonight after all.
I walked toward them.
Kane spotted me first. “Well look who finally decided to stop sulking.”
I flipped him off without slowing down.
Rhett laughed again. “There she is.”
I didn’t speak. Just grabbed the bottle of tequila near the fire pit and poured myself a glass.
The boys went quiet for half a second.
Trace straightened. “You sure?”
I raised the glass, met his eyes, and knocked it back.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
And they let me sit. No questions. No apologies.
Just the fire, the ocean, and whatever was left of us.