Page 98

The deputy raises an eyebrow. “Three?”

“Myself, Briar, and Flint Bishop,” Damiano explains. “He works at The Vault but joined us during a break from his shift. Went back afterward.”

The deputy’s eyes travel over my split lip, then to the bruises visible on Damiano’s neck despite his turtleneck. “Things got a bit rough, I see.”

I feel heat rise to my face, not entirely feigned. “It was consensual.”

“And you didn’t see or hear Viktor Bastian anywhere on the property?” Miller jots notes in his small book.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We were... focused on our own activities.”

“I see.” Miller’s tone is professional, but his expression betrays discomfort. “We’ll need formal statements from both of you. And we’ll need to speak with Mr. Bishop as well.”

“Of course,” I say. “Whatever you need.”

The deputy continues to study me, eyes narrowed. “Did you know Viktor Bastian was looking for his brother? Liam disappeared after a party here. Couple weeks back.”

My heart stutters, but my face remains composed. “I heard something about that. I didn’t know Liam well. He was just one of many guests at my birthday party.”

“Interesting coincidence.” The deputy doesn’tlook convinced. “Two brothers, both last seen at your estate.”

Damiano’s hand presses more firmly against my back. “Officer, is there something you’re suggesting?”

Miller steps in before his deputy can respond. “We’re just gathering information. Would you mind if we looked around the house? Again, just routine.”

“Not at all.” I gesture toward the hall. “Feel free. I’m still a bit... shocked.”

The officers move deeper into the house, leaving Damiano and me momentarily alone in the foyer.

“You’re doing well,” he whispers, his lips barely moving. “Stay calm.”

“They suspect something,” I whisper back.

“They have suspicions, not evidence,” he reassures me. “Remember that.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur of police questions, formal statements, and barely concealed anxiety. By afternoon, the news has spread across the island—Viktor Bastian found dead in the Waters maze, apparently the victim of a drunken Hunt gone wrong.

Flint arrives as the police are preparing to leave, his timing impeccable. He plays his part perfectly—concern at discovering a death on the property, shock that it’s Viktor, careful answers about his whereabouts the night before, all backed up by witnesses at The Vault who saw him tending the bar.

“We’re done for now,” Miller tells us as his teamprepares to leave. “The medical examiner’s initial findings support the accident theory. Too much alcohol, possibly combined with other substances, leading to impaired coordination. A fall, a single impact to the head.”

I exhale slowly, relief washing through me. “So that’s it?”

“For now.” He gives me a long look. “I’m sorry this happened on your property, Ms. Waters. Particularly given your health situation.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” I say.

“Clearly.” His eyes drift to Damiano, then to Flint, who’s standing by the fireplace in careful neutrality. “You three take care of each other, you hear? Island gossip is one thing, but trouble has a way of following certain... arrangements.”

When the police finally leave, the three of us remain frozen in place, listening to the crunch of tires on gravel fade into the distance. Only then do we move, collapsing together on the sofa, bodies pressed against each other in exhausted relief.

“It worked,” Flint murmurs, his hand finding mine. “For now.”

“They still suspect something,” Damiano says, rubbing his throat where Viktor’s hands nearly crushed his windpipe. “That deputy isn’t convinced.”

“But they don’t have proof,” I point out. “And they won’t find any.”

We sit in silence for a long moment, the weight ofwhat we’ve done—what we’ve successfully covered up—settling around us like the island fog.