Page 15

Briar

The body doesn’t look real under the pale morning light.

I stand between Flint and Damiano at the edge of the shallow grave, staring at what’s left of Liam.

His face is partially covered with loose soil, one arm bent at an unnatural angle.

The stake is gone. Damiano must have removed it.

In the daylight, everything seems both more brutal and more ordinary.

Just a dead man in a hole in the ground.

“It needs to be deeper,” Damiano says. “At least three more feet.”

“And it needs to be fast,” Flint adds, scanning the perimeter of the maze. “Someone might notice if we’re out here too long.”

Despite the morning chill, sweat trickles down my back.

I slept for maybe four hours at Flint’s place before the nightmares started.

Dead eyes. Blood spray. That moment when the stake slid into Liam’s throat and I felt the resistance, then the give.

I woke up gasping, and within minutes we were walking through the fog back to my family’s estate.

I swallow hard, throat dry. “What do we do?”

Damiano hands me a shovel. “We dig.”

Flint gives him a look. “She doesn’t need to?—”

“I can dig,” I cut in, gripping the shovel tightly. My knuckles turn white against the wooden handle. He obviously believes I’m too fragile for this. Too sick. Too privileged. Too whatever. “This is my mess. I did this.”

Damiano nods, something like respect flickering across his face. He starts digging at one end of the grave, his movements methodical and practiced. Flint takes the other end, working with quick, forceful thrusts of his shovel. I position myself at the middle, between them.

The first shovelful is the hardest. My arms protest immediately, muscles reminding me that they’re accustomed to lifting cameras, not digging graves. But I keep going, ignoring the burn spreading through my shoulders and back. The repetitive motion is almost hypnotic.

Dig, lift, toss. Dig, lift, toss.

Don’t look at the body.

Don’t think about what you’re doing.

I dig for a few minutes in silence, the only sounds our labored breathing and the shovels cutting into earth. My mind keeps racing, jumping between panic and an eerie calm .

“At least with Mrs. Fletcher gone for the weekend, we don’t have to worry about explaining this,” I say, needing to cut through the silence.

“That’s one lucky break,” Flint says, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “But we still need to move quickly. People from town might come looking for Liam soon.”

“His brother will tear this place apart,” Damiano says, digging faster.

“Right,” Flint scoffs. “Because Viktor’s so fucking thorough.”

“More thorough than you ever were,” Damiano shoots back.

“Guys,” I interrupt, feeling tension building between them like an electrical storm. “Not now.”

They fall silent, but the air crackles with unspoken history. I focus on digging, even as my arms start to shake with fatigue. The hole gets deeper, our piles of dirt growing alongside it.

Twenty minutes in, my breathing gets ragged. I try to hide it, but of course Damiano notices.

“Take a break,” he says, stopping to look at me. His dark hair is tied back, a few strands escaping to frame his face. “You’re pushing too hard.”

“I’m fine,” I say. The response is practically programmed into me after years of illness.

“No, you’re not,” Flint says, also pausing. “Your lips are turning blue.”

I touch my mouth self-consciously. “That happens sometimes. Poor circulation. ”

“Sit.” Damiano points to a nearby stone bench. “Five minutes.”

“We don’t have five minutes.” I jab my shovel into the dirt. “Viktor could already be looking for Liam. We need to finish this and get the hell out.”

“And what good is it if you collapse?” Damiano snaps. “You want to deal with a medical emergency in the middle of all this? Or explain to anyone why you passed out in the maze with a body?”

I try to keep digging, but my vision starts to swim. I stumble slightly, grabbing the edge of the grave to steady myself.

Flint notices and swears under his breath. “Now. Take a minute,” he adds, still digging but glancing at me with reluctant concern. “Sit before you fall.”

I want to argue more, but my body makes the decision for me.

I sink onto the stone bench, watching them work.

The sun momentarily breaks through the fog, illuminating the scene in stark detail.

Two men digging a grave, dirt-streaked and intense, while a corpse waits patiently for its final resting place.

“So what’s the deal with you two anyway?” I ask, partly to distract myself, partly because I genuinely want to know. “What happened?”

They exchange a glance, a whole wordless conversation passing between them.

“Nothing worth talking about.” Flint returns to his digging with even more aggression .

Damiano merely shakes his head and keeps working, his expression unreadable.

“Right,” I say dryly. “Nothing. That’s why you can barely look at each other without either wanting to punch or kiss each other.”

Flint chokes on a laugh, caught off guard by my bluntness. Damiano’s eyes widen slightly before his face settles back into its controlled mask.

“You should rest, not analyze us,” Damiano says, but there’s less edge to his statement now.

“I’m sitting. I’m resting. And I’m curious,” I say, feeling steadier as I catch my breath. “We’re literally burying a body together. I think that earns me at least the cliff notes version.”

“It’s complicated,” Flint says.

“No shit,” I reply. “I got that much.”

Damiano sighs. “We were together for two years. It ended badly. Now we’re stuck on the same island, trying to avoid each other and failing spectacularly.” He thrusts his shovel into the dirt with more force than necessary. “End of story.”

“That’s the sanitized version,” Flint mutters. “Missing a few key details.”

“Like what?” I push, oddly emboldened by the absurdity of our situation.

“Like how he disappeared for three months with no explanation,” Flint says, glaring at Damiano. “Or how he came back like nothing happened and expected everything to be normal. ”

“I told you why I left,” Damiano says quietly, dangerously.

“No, you gave me some bullshit about ‘finding yourself’ in Italy,” Flint snaps. “While I was here thinking you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“I needed space.”

“You needed an excuse,” Flint snarls, stepping closer to Damiano. “You fucking ran when things got real. Just like you always do.”

Damiano throws down his shovel, closing the distance between them. “You want to do this now? Really?” His voice drops to a menacing whisper. “You want to talk about who ran? How about when you were screwing that tourist behind my back and then acted like it meant nothing?”

“That’s not what happened, and you know it,” Flint hisses, his hands balling into fists. “But sure, twist it around. Make yourself the victim. Again.”

Damiano’s eyes darken as he steps even closer, their faces inches apart. “Fuck you.”

“You already did. Multiple times,” Flint says with a vicious smile. “Last night, in fact. Right before we found her with a dead body.”

Damiano shoves Flint hard, making him stumble back a step. “You self-righteous piece of?—”

“Enough!” I shout, standing despite my dizziness. “Are you two serious right now? Save your toxic bullshit for when we’re not standing over a murder scene!”

They both look chastened, like kids caught fighting on the playground. The tension hangs in the air for a moment before Damiano picks up his shovel and returns to digging, deliberately putting distance between himself and Flint.

“Well, I’ll definitely remember not to ask about your past anymore. Jesus...” I mutter, grabbing my shovel. “Okay, let’s get back to work. We’re wasting time.”

I steady myself against the lightheadedness. The break helped somewhat, and while I’m still exhausted, I can’t sit and watch them do all the work. Not when I’m the reason we’re here.

We fall into a rhythm, the three of us working together in tense silence.

The hole gets deeper, Liam’s body waiting to disappear beneath layers of dirt and rocks.

I try not to dwell on the fact that I’m helping bury a man I killed less than twelve hours ago.

I try not to think about how easily I’ve slipped into this criminal conspiracy.

But my mind keeps circling back to one thought: these two men, both obviously still so tangled up in each other, are now tangled up with me, too. Whatever history they share, I’m now part of their story. And they’re part of mine.

“This is deep enough,” Damiano says eventually, standing in a hole that now reaches his chest. He looks up at me, his expression softening. “Briar, you should step away for this part.”

He means covering the body completely. Watching Liam disappear forever .

“I need to see it,” I say, surprising myself with how calm I sound. “I need to know it’s done.”

Flint nods, understanding. “I get that.”

“Fine,” Damiano concedes, “but stand back. The soil’s loose at the edge.”

They climb out of the hole, both covered in sweat and dirt despite the cool morning air. Damiano reaches into a bag he brought and pulls out several small packets of seeds and a glass bottle filled with dark liquid.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Accelerant,” he explains, uncapping the bottle. “Natural compounds that speed up decomposition. And these—” he holds up the seed packets, “—are fast-growing plants with deep root systems. They’ll stabilize the soil and make the ground look undisturbed faster.”

“And they’ll feed off what’s underneath,” Flint adds, unnervingly matter of fact. “Circle of life and all that.”

I should be disturbed by how practical they’re being, but instead I find it reassuring. They know what they’re doing. Somehow, these two men who can barely be in the same space without sparking are completely in sync when it comes to covering up a murder.

Damiano pours the liquid over the body, being methodical in his application. The smell is pungent but not unpleasant—something herbal and earthy. He then adds more dirt amost robotically. Then he takes a handful of dark soil mixed with seeds and sprinkles it over Liam.

“Your turn,” he says, offering the mixture to me.

I hesitate, then take a handful. The soil is cool and damp against my palm. I let it fall onto Liam’s chest, watching as tiny seeds bounce and settle across his torso. It feels ceremonial, almost reverent, despite the horror of what we’re doing.

Flint takes his handful next, completing our macabre ritual. Then we all pick up shovels and begin filling in the grave.

“So I’m stuck here now, right?” I ask as we work. “I can’t just go back to Seattle until we’re sure no one suspects anything?”

“Exactly,” Flint confirms. “Leaving suddenly would raise questions. You stick to your original plan. Recovery time on the island. Act normal.”

“But stay away from The Vault,” Damiano adds. “That’s Viktor’s territory. If he starts asking questions about his brother, you don’t want to be anywhere near it.”

“And stay away from the maze for a while,” Flint says, gesturing around us. “At least until these plants start growing and everything looks natural again.”

“So I’m basically under house arrest,” I say, trying not to sound bitter. “Stuck in my own personal luxury prison.”

“It’s not forever,” Damiano says quietly. “Just until the initial search dies down. People go missing on Heathens Hollow. Eventually they’ll assume Liam left or had an accident somewhere.”

We fall silent again, focusing on the task. The grave fills quickly with three of us working, and soon there’s only a slight mound to indicate anything’s different about this spot. Damiano spends extra time arranging the soil, making it look natural, then sprinkles more seeds across the surface.

“We should get back,” Flint says, glancing at his watch. “It’s been almost two hours.”

Damiano nods. “I’ll handle the tools. Say I’ve been doing early morning maintenance.”

“And what about me?” Flint asks. “How do I explain being here?”

A flash of irritation crosses Damiano’s face. “Figure it out. You always do.”

“Fuck you,” Flint says, but there’s less heat in it than before.

“Seriously?” I cut in, exasperated. “Can you two go five minutes without this?”

They both look at me, then at each other, and something shifts in the air between them.

“He came to see me,” I say, the solution suddenly obvious. “We met at my party; he wanted to check how I was feeling after my migraine. You let him in, Damiano, because you know I’ve been lonely and could use a friend.”

Damiano raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “That works.”

“Nice,” Flint agrees. “Simple, plausible. ”

“And based in truth,” I add. “I could use a friend. Or two.”

Something passes between us then, some unspoken acknowledgment that we’re in this together now, whether we like it or not. Three strangers bound by blood and secrets.

“Let’s go,” Damiano says, gathering the tools. “And remember… act normal.”

As we walk away from the grave, I can’t help looking back one last time. There’s nothing to see now. Just freshly turned earth that will soon sprout new life. In a few weeks, no one will know what lies beneath the green growth.

No one except us three.

Flint falls into step beside me, his shoulder occasionally brushing mine.

Damiano walks slightly ahead, leading us through the maze with the confidence of someone who knows every turn by heart.

I find myself studying them both—the tension in Damiano’s shoulders, the careful distance Flint maintains, the weird energy between them despite how much they claim to hate each other.

And somehow, I’m being drawn into their gravity. Both of them so different, yet equally magnetic in their own ways. Damiano with his quiet intensity and hidden depths. Flint with his sharp edges and unexpected kindness.

“You okay?” Flint asks quietly, having noticed my scrutiny.

“No,” I answer, “but I will be. ”

He nods, accepting this. “We’ve got your back. Both of us.”

I glance ahead at Damiano, who’s paused to wait for us at the next turn. His eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable, but there’s a steadiness in his gaze that feels like a promise.

“I know,” I say, and I’m surprised to find that I believe it.