You knew something was wrong the second the call went straight to voicemail.

Rafe Cameron never went quiet.

He’d pick up in the middle of a fight. Drunk. Angry. Even in the middle of a storm, he’d answer with a slurred, “What?”

But tonight? Nothing.

Your gut turned ice.

You called again. Again. Again.

No answer.

You drove to his place on autopilot, tires screeching into the driveway. His car was gone. His phone was dead. His wallet was still inside, like he had just stepped out for air and never came back.

You knew him too well to believe he just “needed space.”

He didn’t vanish without a reason.

And if no one else was going to find him… you would.

First stop: Topper.

You showed up at his house at 1AM, banging on the door until he opened it in a daze.

"Where is he?"

Topper blinked. “Who—Rafe? I thought he was with you.”

“He’s not. And if you’re lying to me, I swear to God—”

“I’m not, alright?” he snapped. “He was acting weird last time I saw him. Kept saying someone was following him. Paranoid.”

You didn’t hesitate.

Next? Barry.

You found him behind the Wreck, counting cash under flickering lights.

“I don’t have time for games, Barry,” you said, stepping in close. “Where the hell is Rafe?”

He laughed. “What, he disappear on you, sweetheart?”

You slammed his money on the ground.

“I will burn this whole place down if you don’t talk.”

He stopped laughing.

“I saw him two nights ago,” Barry muttered. “He was asking around about some offshore guy. Sketchy type. Maybe he found what he was looking for.”

Your throat tightened.

Rafe had been spiraling — not in the obvious way. Quiet. Calculated. Chasing something in the dark.

You weren’t sure if he was trying to destroy something… or save something.

But you weren’t stopping.

You tracked down one of the guys Rafe had fought with last week — an ex-Kook who ran with people too dangerous for your comfort.

You cornered him behind the club downtown.

“I don’t want answers,” you said, blade in hand. “I want Rafe.”

He looked scared. “He met someone. Late. Said it was a ‘deal’. Left for the docks.”

Your heart dropped.

The docks meant bad news.

Drugs. Debt. Blood.

And Rafe was the kind of person who'd throw himself into fire just to prove he could crawl back out.

The Docks. Midnight. You walked through the fog like a ghost — every footstep faster, heartbeat louder.

Then—

A sound.

A cough.

You turned the corner, and there he was.

Rafe.

Slumped on the ground. Bruised. Bleeding. Eyes barely open.

You ran to him, fell to your knees.

“Jesus, Rafe—Rafe, look at me.”

He blinked like it hurt to move. “Knew… you’d come.”

Your voice broke. “You’re such a goddamn idiot.”

He gave a half-smile, blood on his lip. “But I’m your idiot.”

You pulled him into you, holding him like you could put him back together.

“I will burn every inch of this island for you,” you whispered. “Don’t ever make me do it again.”

He laughed weakly. “Jealous. Possessive. Beautiful. No wonder I’m in love with you.”

You didn’t say it back.

You didn’t have to.

The way you held him, cradled him like he was the only thing keeping your world intact — he knew.

You’d crossed every line to find him.

And you’d do it again.

Without hesitation.

Without regret.

Because where Rafe Cameron goes… you follow.

Even into hell.