The bonfire crackled against the night, painting the familiar faces of the Outer Banks in flickering shades of orange and gold. The air was thick with salt, smoke, and the electric tension that always hummed when Kooks and Pogues were forced to share the same stretch of sand.

Y/N Routledge, seventeen, leaned against the side of the Pogue, her brother John B’s battered van, a can of warm beer in her hand. She watched the scene with a practiced, detached coolness. To anyone looking, she was the picture of a Pogue badass: scuffed boots, a defiant glint in her eyes, her posture screaming she didn’t give a damn. And most of the time, she didn’t. But tonight, her stomach was a tight knot.

“You good?” JJ Maybank materialized beside her, bumping his shoulder against hers. He was her kindred spirit in chaos, the male version of her own reckless heart.

“Peachy,” she lied, her voice a low rasp. “Just waiting for the inevitable explosion.”

She wasn’t like John B. Her brother had a hopeful, dreamer’s heart, fueled by maps and legends of their missing father. Y/N’s fuel was simpler: adrenaline, loyalty, and a deep-seated anger at a world that had taken her mom to an overdose and her dad to the sea. She protected her own with a ferocity that scared even the Kooks. Her family was right here: John B, JJ, Kiara, Pope, Sarah, and Cleo. They were her crew, her treasure-hunting partners, her everything.

And then there was the ghost in the Gucci loafers.

Rafe Cameron stood across the fire, holding court. The Kook king. Sarah’s brother. The mistake that had carved a year-long scar across her life. A year of toxic, explosive passion where they’d loved and hated with equal, terrifying intensity. He’d been her first everything—first real love, first heartbreak, the one who’d handed her her first line of coke with a smirk, teaching her to numb the pain he often caused. She’d ended it five months ago after she’d found him with someone else at the country club. Clean break. Or so she told everyone.

Kelce and Topper, Rafe’s sycophants, laughed too loudly at something he said, their eyes darting to her with open contempt. What did he ever see in that Pogue trash? their looks screamed. Little did they know she had to clench her jaw to stop it from trembling every time his laugh, that specific, arrogant sound, cut through the night.

The party swelled. Music blared. Pogues danced with a wild, carefree joy, while Kooks looked on with amused superiority. Y/N was about to suggest a midnight dive to steal the vibe when a familiar, expensive cologne cut through the woodsmoke.

“Y/N.”

She didn’t need to turn. Her spine went rigid. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder. Rafe stood there, his blond hair gleaming in the firelight, his expression unreadable. He looked older, harder than she remembered.

“Cameron,” she nodded, her tone flat. JJ tensed beside her, a protective growl almost audible.

“You look… different,” Rafe said, his eyes tracing her face with an intensity that felt like a physical touch.

“Yeah, well, not being cheated on does wonders for a person.” She took a swig of her beer, hoping he didn’t see her hand shake.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. The old Rafe would have fired back something cruel. This one just stared. “I heard you and the crew found the coordinates to the Merchant’s last shipment.”

Of course he had. The hunt for gold was the only thing that ever truly united the island. “Pogue business,” she shrugged.

“It’s dangerous business,” he stepped closer, his voice dropping. The noise of the party faded into a buzz around them. “You’re playing in deep water, Y/N. Deeper than you know.”

His concern, fake or not, ignited the old, familiar fire in her chest. “I learned how to swim in deep water from you, Rafe. Remember? You taught me how to drown all sorts of ways.”

The barb hit its mark. His cool facade cracked, revealing a flash of the turbulent boy she’d known. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Then why did you come?” The question slipped out, raw and honest, betraying her.

For a long moment, he just looked at her.