Page 92 of Our Darkest Summer

Braxton scoffed. “I’m not drunk. I’m just a very good actor.” He winked, then pointed at the speakers. “You cannotnotdance to Pitbull. It’s, like, a universal law.”

Thomas sent him awatch melook, but then, after a beat, he held a hand out to me, while Braxton disappeared back into the pulsing crowd.

I lifted a brow. “But you hate dancing,” I said, déjà vu tightening around my ribs. My heart thrummed harder as his fingers ghosted over my wrist.

“I told you already,” he rasped into my ear. “You’re my only exception, Wise Girl.”

My pulse fluttered as he pulled me closer. The beat vibrated through the summer air, fast and heavy, wrapping around us like smoke. The crowd was alive, bodies shifting and swaying beneath the glow of string lights, but the world narrowed to just us.

Thomas’ hand found my waist as we moved, his rhythm syncing with mine like he’d done this a hundred times. Not slow. Not hesitant. Just… in it. His fingertips pressed lightly into mylower back, guiding me. The tension stretched unbearably thin, winding tighter with every shift, every breath.

I tilted my head back, a breathless laugh escaping me. “You can actually dance.”

His lips grazed my ear. “I never said I couldn’t,” he murmured, his voice rough.

The lights flashed. Somewhere beyond, people jumped and shouted, letting the night take them. But here, it was just us. The space between us burned with unspoken words. Thomas spun me, then pulled me back against him, his grip firmer now. It was like we were back in the kitchen, barely holding back. I leaned into him, feeling every subtle twitch of his muscles against my back.

The song faded into its final notes, and I turned to face him again as the bass dropped. Our movements slowed. Our breaths tangled. Thomas exhaled, his forehead nearly brushing mine. For a second, it felt like he might close the distance.

Then he spoke, his voice a low rasp, nearly drowned out by the music.

“I’ll get us a drink.”

His hands lingered a second longer, then slipped away. And just like that, the air felt colder. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I frowned, pulling it out.

CORA H. started sharing location with you.

CORA H.

hel

help

A chill ran down my spine, sharp and immediate. Before I could even process the message, my phone buzzed again.

CORA H. is calling…

I stepped back from the crush of bodies, away from the pulsing music and flashing lights, pressing the phone to my ear.

“Cora?”

The call ended.

Shit.

Panic reared at the back of my mind. I spun, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces for Thomas, but he was nowhere. The party blurred around me, a smear of neon lights and heat, but I barely noticed. My thumb hovered over Cora’s text before I tapped open the location.

A red pin blinked at the edge of the woods.

My stomach twisted.

I hesitated for half a second, then forwarded the location to Thomas and moved. The laughter and bass-heavy music faded with every step I took, like it was swallowed by the dense night air.

The scent of earth and pine thickened in my lungs. My boots crunched against fallen pine needles, the sound too loud, too small, against the vast, empty silence of the trees.

Something was wrong.

The clearing opened before me, bathed in pale moonlight. The pin showed Cora here, but I didn’t see her. Not until?—