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I turn to find Flint beside me, holding a glass of something amber. A bone-white mask hangs loosely around his neck, the strap twisted carelessly like he couldn’t be bothered to wear it right. His white streak stands out even more against his black clothing, like he’s trying to channel some comic book villain. Always so damn dramatic.

“Someone needs to keep an eye on things.” I keep my voice flat.

His laugh is dry and bitter. “Right. Playing bodyguard to the rich girl already? That was fast.” His gaze shifts to Briar, who’s talking animatedly with a group of locals. “She’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Another trust fund princess slumming it for kicks.” He shrugs. “She seems... genuine.”

“She’s sick.” The words come out harder than intended. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He raises his eyebrow, silver piercing catching the light. “Jealous already? That was fast, even for you.”

I turn away, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. This conversation is heading nowhere good, and I need to focus.

Across the room, Liam Bastian has cornered Briar by the drink table. Even from here, I can see her body language change, shoulders tensing, smile going rigid. Liam leans in closer than necessary, brushing her arm with his hand as he talks, playing Mr. Charming when everyone on this island knows what he’s really about. The contrast between his dark clothes and Briar’s white dress makes them look like predator and prey already playing their roles.

“Looks like someone’s getting an early start on The Hunt,” Flint mutters, following my gaze. “Bastian’s been talking big at The Vault about adding a Waters to his collection. Said white would look real good on her, especially when she’s running barefoot through the maze.”

I clench my jaw, tracking the movement across the room. Liam Bastian has his hand lower on Briar’s back than it has any right to go.

“Better go save your princess.” Flint tips his glass toward the scene. “Before Bastian gets ideas.”

“She’s not my—” No point playing this game with Flint. “Why are you even here?”

He smirks, finishing his drink in one smooth motion. “Free booze, good music, chance to see how the rich half lives.” His eyes lock with mine. “Plus, I figured you’d be lurking around, guarding your territory.”

“She’s not territory.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He steps closer, his voice dropping. “That’s your thing, isn’t it? Finding brokenstuff to fix? Like those plants you’re always fussing over.”

I keep my eyes on Briar, who’s extracting herself from Liam’s conversation. “You didn’t seem to mind my ‘thing’ last night.”

“Last night was different.” His voice has an edge now. “Last night didn’t involve you playing hero to Maxwell Waters’ little girl.”

Something in his tone pulls my attention away from Briar. Flint’s eyes are hard, glittering with something that looks like genuine anger.

“You’re jealous,” I say, the realization hitting me. “That’s what this is about?”

He scoffs. “Of her? Please. I just hate watching you fall into the same toxic patterns.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“At least I know what I am.” He steps closer, just shy of touching me, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. “I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

The scent of him, whiskey and that cedar cologne he’s worn forever, hits me with a wave of memories from last night. His back against the wall of The Vault’s storage room. My hands pinning his wrists above his head. His breathless laugh when I told him I hated him.

I push away the images. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Sure you are. Playing garden boy during the day, dealing your special herbs by night.” He smiles, allteeth and venom. “Then there’s what you do during Hunt season. The stuff you don’t want anyone to know about. Especially not your new pet project up at the big house.”

I move my hand before I can stop myself, grabbing his wrist hard enough to make him wince. “Don’t.”

Instead of pulling away, he leans in, his mouth almost touching my ear. “What? You don’t want me telling your new project about last night? About what you do with that tongue when you think no one’s watching?”

I release him like touching him burns. “This isn’t the place.”

“Never is with you.” He rubs his wrist where my fingers left marks. “But we always end up in the same place anyway, don’t we?”