It was past midnight at the marina—quiet, except for the soft clinking of sailboats and the hush of tidewater slapping against the docks. The floodlights had already kicked off hours ago, leaving the place in shadows, the only glow coming from a nearby bait shack’s flickering sign and the low blue of a hidden phone screen.

You weren't supposed to be here. Not really. You were passing through—cutting across to get back to your car after another useless Kook party. But the moment you stepped onto the dock, you felt it.

That you weren’t alone.

Slouched between two skiffs, half-hidden behind a stack of crates, was a familiar silhouette. Head bowed. Hoodie up. Shoulders tense like he hadn’t slept in days. His leg stretched out in front of him, stiff—like maybe he was hurt. Like maybe he’d been there longer than he planned.

Rafe Cameron.

He didn’t reach for a weapon. Didn’t shout. He just looked up, his face catching just enough light to show the bruising along his jaw and the dried blood at the corner of his mouth. His eyes, wild and sharp under the hoodie’s shadow, locked on you.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Not since he’d vanished after the cops started sniffing around Tannyhill. Sarah hadn’t said much, just that things were bad—the kind of bad that doesn’t clean off with money or apologies.

Rafe looked at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real—or just another problem in a long line of them.

"Didn’t think it’d be you," he muttered, voice hoarse like he hadn’t used it in hours. "But I’m not complaining."

He shifted, wincing slightly, one hand disappearing into his jacket like instinct—but he didn’t pull anything. He just breathed out slow and let the silence settle before adding: "You keep your mouth shut? Help me disappear?" His eyes narrowed, that familiar Cameron steel creeping back in.

"I’ll make it worth it. Big-time."

He didn’t offer details. Not yet. Maybe he didn’t have them. But it wasn’t a bluff—Rafe never begged, but this was close. Close enough that you could hear the panic under his calm.

Something had gone wrong. And whatever it was, it had Rafe hiding like a stray dog behind dock crates, bleeding and desperate—and you, standing above him, holding the only choice he had left.

The marina rocked gently around you, night air heavy with salt, tension, and everything Rafe wasn’t saying.