Page 83 of Hollow

“Come on,” I say. “Back to reality.”

They both groan, and I feel the same way. Reality fucking sucks. But reality that involves the two of them…

Chapter 27

Flint

The sun has nearly disappeared by the time we leave the cemetery, the sky fading from dusty orange to deep purple. Our shadows stretch long against the gravel path, three silhouettes merging into one twisted shape. Briar walks between us, her fingers linked with mine, her other hand tucked into the crook of Damiano’s arm.

It feels wrong to feel this good. This whole fucking day has been a surprise—no arguments, no bullshit drama, merely the three of us existing in the same space without tearing each other apart. Almost like normal people, if normal people shared bloody secrets and complicated feelings.

“That was actually nice,” I admit, breaking the comfortable silence as we approach the cemetery gates. “Minus the tourists with the selfie sticks, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Briar echoes, the smile in hervoice warming something in my chest. “I think the cemetery’s keepers would be horrified if they knew we were treating it like a dating spot.”

“Trust me, they’ve seen worse,” I say, thinking of the countless teenagers who’ve used this place for even less savory activities over the years.

We reach the wrought iron gates, rusted and massive against the darkening sky. The parking lot is nearly empty, only our cars and a sleek black Lexus that looks way too familiar. My stomach drops.

“Fuck,” I mutter, instinctively pulling Briar closer, my body tensing. “That’s Viktor’s car.”

Damiano sees it, too. His casual stance immediately shifts, shoulders squaring, jaw tightening. “Let’s go around the back.” He’s already turning to guide Briar in the opposite direction.

Too late.

Viktor Bastian emerges from behind a weathered stone angel, his massive frame blocking our path. The security earpiece is gone, replaced by a sleek black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but the intimidating presence remains.

“Well, well,” he says, deceptively casual. “Small island.”

Every instinct screams at me to put myself between him and Briar, but that would only make us look guilty. Instead, I force my posture to relax, keeping my grip on Briar’s hand firm but not panicked.

“Viktor,” I acknowledge with a nod. “Cemetery visit? Wouldn’t have pegged you for the sentimental type.”

He studies the three of us, taking in our linked hands, the easy proximity, the intimate bubble we’ve created. Something flickers across his face—curiosity, suspicion, or maybe calculation.

“Visiting old friends,” he says vaguely, then gestures at us. “This is... cozy. Didn’t realize you three were so close.”

Briar’s hand tightens in mine, and I squeeze back, hoping it conveys the message:don’t panic.

“Island’s full of surprises.” Damiano’s tone is neutral but his body is angled slightly in front of Briar.

Viktor’s gaze lingers on Briar, assessing her with cold precision. “Ms. Waters. Recovered from all the excitement, I see.”

“Just enjoying the evening,” she says with remarkable steadiness. “Fresh air does wonders.”

“I’m sure it does.” He flicks his attention back to me. “Don’t forget we need extra security for Heathens tonight. The summer crowd’s getting rowdy.”

“Already handled,” I reply, keeping my tone casual. “Everything’s set for ten.”

He nods, then turns to Damiano. “You’ll be there tonight, right? Locke was asking.”

Damiano shifts his weight, a barely perceptible tension running through him. “Of course,” he answers, carefully neutral. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Briar glances between us, her expression unreadable.

“Good,” Viktor says, something knowing in his expression. “And Ms. Waters? You coming to check it out?”

Before Briar can answer, both Damiano and I speak at once.

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