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“Right. Traditions.” I reach for another glass to polish. “You need me to handle prep?”

“Yes. Same as usual—medical screenings, contracts, security protocols. And we’re adding something new this time.” Locke’s voice drops evenlower. “Soren wants to extend invitations to non-members. People who’ve expressed interest in joining The Vault.”

“Non-members?” I can’t keep the edge from my question. “That’s not how The Hunt works.”

“It’s how it works now.” His tone makes it clear this isn’t up for debate. “We’re recruiting. Growing our membership.”

“These ‘outsiders’ understand the rules? The boundaries?”

“That’s your job.” Locke straightens up. “Make sure they do. We need this to go smoothly. No incidents. No complications.”

I nod, mind already running through the implications. The Hunt. Hunters and prey running all over the island. Including abandoned properties. Including the Waters estate. Including the maze where we just buried a body.

Fuck.

“Good.” He straightens his already perfect tie. “And Bishop? Viktor’s a valued member of our security team. If you hear anything, you bring it directly to me. Understood?”

The threat is subtle but clear. The Vault protects its own.

“Understood.”

As Locke walks away, I grab my phone and send another text to Damiano:VIKTOR OFFERING 10K FOR INFO ON LIAM.

His reply is immediate:SHIT.

Yeah. That about sums it up.

And then I add:THE HUNT IS HAPPENING EARLY THIS YEAR. SUMMER EQUINOX. PEOPLE WILL BE ALL OVER THE PROPERTY. THE MAZE.

Three dots appear, then:SHIT. NEED TO SECURE IT BETTER.

I type quickly:CAN YOU? HUNTERS DON’T CARE ABOUT TRESPASSING.

His response takes longer this time:HOW DO WE KEEP THEM AWAY FROM THE GRAVE?

I close my eyes briefly. Fuck:NEED A PLAN. MEET TONIGHT AFTER MY SHIFT. WARN BRIAR.

I glance at the clock—seven more hours of my shift. Seven hours of pretending I don’t know exactly where Liam Bastian is. Seven hours of watching people speculate, watching Viktor question everyone who walks through that door, watching this whole situation spiral further out of control.

I pour myself another shot and down it quickly. The liquor burns all the way down, but it’s not enough to wash away the taste of grave dirt that seems permanently stuck in the back of my throat.

The door opens again, bringing a group of loud weekenders from Seattle. Friday night crowd starting to trickle in. I plaster on my professional bartender face and get back to work. One drink at a time. One hour at a time. Just get through tonight.

But as I mix an overpriced Manhattan for some tech bro, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re already screwed. Money talks on this island. Ten thousanddollars is more than most locals see in six months. Someone will talk, whether they know something or not.

And Viktor won’t stop until he finds his brother.

Or what’s left of him.

Chapter 12

Damiano

The yarrow isn’t growing right.

I’ve checked the soil pH three times, adjusted the water, moved it to a different part of the greenhouse, but something’s still off. The stems are weak, the leaves pale. I could force it, add chemicals, but that defeats the whole point. Medicinal plants need to be strong on their own, or they’re useless.

My phone buzzes again. Fourth time in an hour. I already know it’s Flint with another update about Viktor’s search. The first text was bad enough—VIKTOR OFFERING 10K FOR INFO ON LIAM—but the follow-ups have gotten worse. Search parties combing the eastern shore. Viktor personally questioning everyone at the Waters party.