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“Tell that to Viktor.” Flint kicks at the edge of the disturbed soil. “You think this is all going to go away, don’t you? That Daddy’s money or your family name will protect you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No? Then why would you risk going to The Vault when you know Viktor’s looking for his brother? When you know people saw you at the party where he was last seen?” He looks at me with daggers in his eyes. “I’m not going to let you fuck over Damiano.He’s not taking the fall for you if that’s your ultimate plan.”

“Wait… what? I would never?—”

“Then why are you not taking this seriously? Because that’s how I feel. Like this isn’t real to you.”

I don’t have a good answer—at least, not one I’m willing to share, that I needed to see him, needed answers about The Hunt, needed something to make me feel alive after being trapped in the sterile safety of my father’s world for so long. I don’t want to feel weak. I don’t want to feel like I need to heroes to swoop in and fix it…

“I want my own fucking agency.”

“Agency?” His laugh is harsh in the quiet night.

“I don’t want to need help. I don’t want to be a damsel in distress. I’ve been that my whole life, and well… I’m trying to take control and make sure I fix this. On my terms.”

“You walked into the most gossip-filled place on the island, looking like the princess of Windward Estate come to mingle with the commoners. That’s not taking control. That’s fucking stupid.”

The anger in his accusation makes me take a step back. “I don’t need a lecture from you.”

“No? Then let me remind you of something.”

He grabs my arm, pulling me to stand directly over the freshly turned earth.

“Look down,” he says. “There’s a rotting corpse under our feet. Liam Bastian’s body is decomposingsix feet below us while his brother tears the island apart looking for him.”

I stare at the ground, suddenly hyperaware of what—who—lies beneath the dirt.

“If Mrs. Fletcher hadn’t intercepted them, they would have found this disturbed soil. Then you’d be explaining to Viktor Bastian why his brother is buried in your garden.”

The reality of how close we came to disaster hits me like a physical blow. “What would hereallydo? If he found out?”

Flint’s eyes meet mine in the darkness. “You really want to know?”

I nod, even though I’m not sure I do.

“Viktor doesn’t go to the police. He handles things himself.” He steps closer. “Last guy who crossed him disappeared for three days. When he turned up, both his hands were broken so badly they had to be wired back together. And that was for shorting him on a drug deal.”

My throat goes dry. “My intent was never to kill. I only wanted him to stop.”

“You think he cares?” Flint grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “Viktor won’t see a scared woman defending herself. He’ll see the rich bitch who killed his little brother and tried to hide it. And if he finds out that Damiano or I had anything to do with this… well, let’s just say thing won’t end well.”

I wrench myself from his grip. “I didn’t ask for this. Any of it.”

“No, but here we are. And every time you pull a stunt like tonight, you put all of us at risk.”

“Then why help me?” I demand, anger rising to match his. “Why not just walk away now? Let me deal with this on my own?”

“Because I’m already in too deep.” Something shifts in his expression. “With the body. With Damiano. With you.”

The last part catches me off guard. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes the distance between us, his hand sliding behind my neck, pulling me toward him. His mouth crashes against mine, nothing gentle about it. Pure frustration, anger, need.

I should push him away. I have every reason to. Instead, I’m kissing him back with equal force, fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer.

It’s different than at The Vault. This isn’t anger and passion. This is raw, immediate, fueled by fear and adrenaline.