28. Finn

Whoa, Caeleb whispers, eyes transfixed as all three of us look at the room inside the library.

What should we do? I ask him, my throat heavy. Should we go in and see if … see if we can find the treasure?

We can, Silas says. But we shouldnt. Its not our treasure, therefore not our business. Weve done what we came to do.

Hes right, though I wish it didnt have to end here. To be honest, the reason I allowed myself to get so immersed in this entire hunt was because this was the only thing left to tie us to Emily. Now that this is also done, and shes gone, theres nothing left. We go back to our lives, and somehow, we live knowing that theres no returning to what once was. A lump rises to my throat. I speak in spite of it. Fine, I tell the men. What do we do from here, then?

We tell Emily theres a room in her fathers mansion, and it probably has the treasure he wrote about, Silas deadpans, the shadows in his eyes revealing nothing. Damn, he can be stone-like when hes hurting. I dont know how to fix it, so I hope time does the trick. Im not doing it.

Me neither, I mutter, balling my hands into fists.

Caeleb sighs. Guess that leaves me, then. He fishes out his phone and composes a brief message. Before sending it to Emily, he shows it to us.

My eyes scan over the contents of the message.

Dont worry. Im not texting because I want to ask you to give us another chance. I get that were done. But you may be interested in knowing the secret room is in your fathers library house, past the first bookshelf.

Its specific enough, without being apparent. Fine, I grunt. Send it to her.

Im screaming internally. I feel like tossing the phone away from his hand, because there really is no turning back from here. Damn this to hell. I wish Emily would have trusted us enough to at least tell us why she did what she did, but no. I watch Caeleb hit the send button, and then, its done.

Okay, says Silas, massaging his forehead. I have a headache the size of a tsunami, so Im going home.

Me too, mutters Caeleb. I need to sleep. And no— he snaps at Silas, its not because I take naps whenever things go downhill. Im genuinely tired.

Silas raises his hands. Hey, I didnt say it.

The two of them look at me. I swallow. Ill go meet a few friends, have a drink, then head home.

Silas frowns immediately. My past with alcohol isnt a glorious one. Finn?—

Dont start, I tell him wearily. Ill be careful.

Okay, he says, stopping the train of thought then and there. Okay.

Twilight drapes itself over Harveys estate, turning the overgrown gardens into a tableau of shadows. The sunset bleeds crimson and gold across the horizon. Its beautiful but in a violent kind of way. I dont like such harsh beauty.

Well, thats that, Silas mumbles, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a brittle tension. Guess its time to face the real world again.

Caeleb claps him on the shoulder, his eyes guarded. Emilys got the info. The rest is up to her. The words hang in the air, hollow and unsatisfying.

See you guys around, I manage, the taste of failure sour in my mouth.

They nod, the unspoken hurts flashing between us. I watch them walk away, the fading light swallowing their figures. Alone, the silence feels oppressive. The itch to drown it all out, to numb the ache of Emilys betrayal, prickles under my skin.

My car is a sanctuary, the familiar smell of leather and old road maps a warped kind of comfort. I crank the engine, and the throaty rumble chases away some of the silence. The mansion disappears in my rearview mirror, but the vision of Emily reading Caelebs text clings to me like a burr.

Instinct guides my hands, taking me away from familiar streets. The setting sun paints the coastal town of Emberton in streaks of orange and fiery pink. Vineyards blur past, their gnarled vines like outstretched claws in the fading light. I pull over when the ocean shimmers into view, a vast expanse of inky water reflecting the bruised sky.

Salt and brine fill my lungs as I step onto the cool sand. Waves crash and retreat, a tireless rhythm that only intensifies the thrumming in my ears. I should join the smattering of couples walking the beach, or head home to collapse into bed, but an emptiness gnaws at my gut.

The answer lies in the neon haze of Embertons downtown strip. I park near a bar with a glowing sign promising cheap drinks and questionable company—perfect for a guy who just wants to forget. The inside is a blur of worn booths, blaring music, and too many bodies pressed close. A wave of oppressive heat washes over me, the smell of stale beer and desperation clinging to the air. I snag a stool at the bar, the worn wood sticky beneath my fingers.

Beer? The bartender, a grizzled man with a faded tattoo snaking up his arm, grunts a question.

No, I mutter. Make it something strong. And keep em coming.

The burn of whiskey is a welcome shock, a brief respite from the swirling storm in my head. I lose count of the glasses, the world fuzzing around the edges. Each shot is a nail in the coffin of my memories, of Emilys laughter, of the promises we shattered.

Time becomes meaningless. Faces and laughter wash over me, a faceless tide. Then shes there, a cascade of golden hair and a smile that makes my heart lurch even in this haze. Not Emily, but close enough.

Can I buy you a drink? Her voice is honeyed, her eyes a flirtatious challenge.

I should tell her to get lost, to leave me to my own self-destruction, but my voice is thick and clumsy. Sure.

She sits beside me, too close, her perfume a mockery of Emilys clean, citrus scent. We make aimless conversation, her words blurring into the dull roar in my head. With each drink, the temptation sharpens. Heres oblivion, distraction, a fleeting illusion of control.

My place or yours? she whispers, her hand sliding along my thigh. The touch is fire, a twisted echo of the nights Emily and I shared.

I sway, torn between the desperate need to forget and the flicker of guilt that still burns even in this drunken stupor. Im no saint, but theres a line I swore Id never cross. A bitter laugh escapes me as I delete Emilys name and number, erasing even that small tether to the life I left behind.

Yours, I rasp, a dangerous smile playing on my lips. My pride, whats left of it, demands this much. She leads me out and into her car, the world tilting precariously with each step.

In the cramped confines of her car, her scent is suffocating. We kiss, hungry and mindless, my body responding on autopilot. Each brush of her lips whispers of Emily, but its a phantom touch, a ghost of what once was. The only way to silence it is to give in, to drown in sensation. Im faintly aware she has a driver, and a fancy apartment.

We stumble inside once we reach it, fumbling with clothes and desperate kisses. And yet, as her fingers trace the line of my jaw, all I see is Emilys face, her eyes filled with trust now shattered. The weight of it all crashes down on me. I pull away, a hoarse apology caught in my throat. Its a cowardly escape, but I cling to it like a lifeline.

I clench my eyes shut, but even the darkness behind my lids cant erase the image of Emilys face, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The girl beside me makes a soft, questioning sound, the rustling of sheets a stark contrast to the pounding of my guilt-ridden heart.

I … I cant, I choke out, the words raw and unfamiliar.

Confusion ripples across her carefully made-up face, then hardens into anger. Dont play games with me, she hisses, her voice sharp as broken glass.

Im not. My shoulders slump in defeat. I just … I cant do this.

She scoffs, rolling away from me. The sting of rejection is a bitter balm to my aching soul. I deserve it, deserve the emptiness echoing in this too-small room.

Getting dressed feels like wading through quicksand, every movement heavy with humiliation. Somewhere in the haze of guilt and whiskey, I manage to mumble an apology, a pathetic offering to appease my tortured conscience. She doesnt even look my way as I stumble out, the night air like a slap against my burning face.

The sidewalk is a hazy mess. Each step is a hammer blow to my aching head, a brutal reminder that nothing—no amount of alcohol, no fleeting distraction—can erase the chasm Emilys betrayal has carved into my soul.

My car sits abandoned by the bar, a useless hunk of metal. The thought of driving is laughable, my vision swimming, the world tilting at a nauseating angle. Weakness washes over me, a shameful tide. I sink down on a bench, a sudden bout of rain plastering my hair to my forehead, my stomach churning in time with the relentless pulse behind my eyes.

Just when I think it cant get any worse, a voice cuts through the haze. You alright, my deary?

A blurry figure resolves itself into an aged woman, her eyes filled with a mix of concern and a wariness born of too many late nights on these streets. I try to speak, but only a pathetic croak escapes my throat.

She must sense my desperation because her expression softens. Here, lets get you out of this rain. With surprising strength, she helps me to my feet, guiding me towards a battered yellow car parked nearby.

Taxi, she explains, her voice gentle but firm. Can you tell me where you live?

I mumble out my address, the words thick and slurred. She speaks to the driver, a gruff-looking man with kind eyes, paying him in advance and giving him instructions. The next thing I know, Im slumped in the backseat, the worn upholstery a blessed contrast to the unforgiving bench.

The ride is a blur of flashing lights and rain-streaked windows. The gentle rocking of the car lulls me into a fitful half-sleep, haunted by fragments of Emilys face and the lingering scent of a strangers perfume.

We pull up in front of my house, the familiar sight a jarring reminder of the mess Ive made. The driver helps me out, his grip firm. With a gruff—Get some sleep, kid—he guides me through the front door and deposits me unceremoniously on my couch.

I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, the darkness a mocking echo of the emptiness inside me. This wont do. This cant be the end. My hands tremble as I fumble for my phone, the screen blurring before my eyes. In a moment of desperate, self-destructive lunacy, I type her number—because no amount of deleting will ever make me forget it.

Then, I write a message and hit send. Theres no way back from this, no redemption to be found at the bottom of a bottle or in the arms of a stranger. Cursing myself, cursing Emily, cursing the fickle hand of fate; I drift into an exhausted, alcohol-soaked oblivion.