The roads to Montauk were empty.
The world looked washed out, like even the sunrise was too tired to show up properly. My car cut through the fog like a scalpel. Silent, silver, and sharp.
I hadn’t been back here in almost twelve years.
The last time, there had been laughter. Expensive wine. A dead girl cooling by the pool.
We called it the accident.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
Dylan had cleaned up the blood. I had made the calls. The others... well, most of them were gone now. Buried by time, scandals, or the group’s own cleanup crew.
Emily was the last real casualty. And the first one that made Dylan crack.
I used to think I was the monster. But Dylan?
Dylan had learned how to make his violence look like devotion.
*
The estate still looked untouched.
Same rusted gates, same ov
