You stood a few feet away from the Camerons, the heaviness of the funeral pressing down on you like a suffocating fog. Sheriff Peterkin’s death had rocked the whole island, but none more so than the people gathered around you. Or maybe that was just the show they were putting on.

Ward looked stoic, jaw tight, as if mourning the loss of someone he hadn’t framed another kid for killing. Rose clutched Wheezie’s hand like she could somehow shield her from all the ugliness surrounding their family. Sarah wasn’t here—lost at sea, along with John B. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

And then there was Rafe.

You didn’t mean to look at him, but your gaze drifted his way anyway, like you couldn’t help yourself. He stood with that same cold, detached expression he always wore, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders rigid. But when his eyes flicked to yours, you froze.

He caught you looking.

Fuck.

You turned away quickly, heart racing, but you could feel the weight of his stare lingering. It was like he could see right through you, like he knew.

And he did. You knew what he did, even if no one else would admit it. He’d killed Peterkin. Not John B, not anyone else. Him.

But what were you supposed to do with that? Your family was close with the Camerons. Your parents wouldn’t believe you if you tried to tell them the truth. And Rafe—

“You okay?”

His voice startled you, low and close, like he’d appeared out of nowhere. You turned to find him standing beside you, too close for comfort, his expression unreadable.