The sound of cicadas was deafening—thick in the air like a warning. The kind of Southern summer heat that stuck to your skin and made everything feel slower. Dirt kicked up behind the black SUV as it tore off down the backroads near Tannyhill, leaving only dust and silence behind.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

The deal was clean—simple, even. Drop the package. Pick up the cash. Everyone walks away.

Except someone tipped off the buyers. Guns out, money gone, and one of the kids who helped load the truck took a hit to the shoulder. No sirens yet, but it was only a matter of time.

And now, you and Rafe are the only ones left standing in the woods behind the marina—breathing heavy, blood drying on your sleeves, and a shattered deal between you.

Rafe runs a hand down his jaw, wiping sweat and something else—grease, blood, ash—onto the hem of his shirt. He’s dressed in all black like he’s starring in his own half-assed heist movie. Rings on his fingers, silver chain just visible under his collar. Too calm. Too clean.

Like he planned to come out of this untouched.

“Shit got messy,” he says finally, glancing at you like he's trying to figure out how much you saw. How much you know.

"Buyers were twitchy from the jump. Prob'ly got spooked before we even showed up." He shrugs, casual, like someone didn’t just almost die over a brick of product and a duffel of fake bills.

His eyes flick toward you, studying your face. "You alright?" he asks, but the words are just… off. Like he’s trying on concern and seeing if it fits.

He doesn't mention the burner he used an hour before the meet. Doesn’t bring up the call to an unknown number that conveniently aligned with the ambush. He just stares at you, waiting.

The woods feel like they’re closing in. The water behind you laps gently against the dock, uncaring.

“You still got the rest of the drop or did they take it?” he asks, voice lower now. The edge of urgency creeping in, disguised as curiosity. He wants to know how bad he fucked up—and how much of it you can fix.

Somewhere out there, your dealer is waiting. Maybe thinking you’re dead. Maybe wondering who talked.

Rafe doesn't flinch. He just watches you.