Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“That’s not what happened, and you know it,” Flint hisses, his hands balling into fists. “But sure, twist it around. Make yourself the victim. Again.”
Damiano’s eyes darken as he steps even closer, their faces inches apart. “Fuck you.”
“You already did. Multiple times,” Flint says with a vicious smile. “Last night, in fact. Right before we found her with a dead body.”
Damiano shoves Flint hard, making him stumble back a step. “You self-righteous piece of—”
“Enough!” I shout, standing despite my dizziness. “Are you two serious right now? Save your toxic bullshit for when we’re not standing over a murder scene!”
They both look chastened, like kids caught fighting on the playground. The tension hangs in the air for a moment before Damiano picks up his shovel and returns to digging, deliberately putting distance between himself and Flint.
“Well, I’ll definitely remember not to ask about your past anymore. Jesus...” I mutter, grabbing my shovel. “Okay, let’s get back to work. We’re wasting time.”
I steady myself against the lightheadedness. The break helped somewhat, and while I’m still exhausted, I can’t sit and watch them do all the work. Not when I’m the reason we’re here.
We fall into a rhythm, the three of us working together in tense silence. The hole gets deeper, Liam’s body waiting to disappear beneath layers of dirt and rocks. I try not to dwell on the fact that I’m helping bury a man I killed less than twelve hours ago. I try not to think about how easily I’ve slipped into this criminal conspiracy.
But my mind keeps circling back to one thought: these two men, both obviously still so tangled up in each other, are now tangled up with me, too. Whatever history they share, I’m now part of their story. And they’re part of mine.
“This is deep enough,” Damiano says eventually, standing in a hole that now reaches his chest. He looks up at me, his expression softening. “Briar, you should step away for this part.”
He means covering the body completely. Watching Liam disappear forever.
“I need to see it,” I say, surprising myself with how calm I sound. “I need to know it’s done.”
Flint nods, understanding. “I get that.”
“Fine,” Damiano concedes, “but stand back. The soil’s loose at the edge.”
They climb out of the hole, both covered in sweat and dirt despite the cool morning air. Damiano reaches into a bag he brought and pulls out several small packets of seeds and a glass bottle filled with dark liquid.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Accelerant,” he explains, uncapping the bottle. “Natural compounds that speed up decomposition. And these—” he holds up the seed packets, “—are fast-growing plants with deep root systems. They’ll stabilize the soil and make the ground look undisturbed faster.”
“And they’ll feed off what’s underneath,” Flint adds, unnervingly matter of fact. “Circle of life and all that.”
I should be disturbed by how practical they’re being, but instead I find it reassuring. They know what they’re doing. Somehow, these two men who can barely be in the same space without sparking are completely in sync when it comes to covering up a murder.
Damiano pours the liquid over the body, being methodical in his application. The smell is pungent but not unpleasant—something herbal and earthy. He then adds more dirt amost robotically. Then he takes a handful of dark soil mixed with seeds and sprinkles it over Liam.
“Your turn,” he says, offering the mixture to me.
I hesitate, then take a handful. The soil is cool and damp against my palm. I let it fall onto Liam’s chest, watching as tiny seeds bounce and settle across his torso. It feels ceremonial, almost reverent, despite the horror of what we’re doing.
Flint takes his handful next, completing our macabre ritual. Then we all pick up shovels and begin filling in the grave.
“So I’m stuck here now, right?” I ask as we work. “I can’t just go back to Seattle until we’re sure no one suspects anything?”
“Exactly,” Flint confirms. “Leaving suddenly would raise questions. You stick to your original plan. Recovery time on the island. Act normal.”
“But stay away from The Vault,” Damiano adds. “That’s Viktor’s territory. If he starts asking questions about his brother, you don’t want to be anywhere near it.”
“And stay away from the maze for a while,” Flint says, gesturing around us. “At least until these plants start growing and everything looks natural again.”
“So I’m basically under house arrest,” I say, trying not to sound bitter. “Stuck in my own personal luxury prison.”
“It’s not forever,” Damiano says quietly. “Just until the initial search dies down. People go missing on Heathens Hollow. Eventually they’ll assume Liam left or had an accident somewhere.”
We fall silent again, focusing on the task. The grave fills quickly with three of us working, and soon there’s only a slight mound to indicate anything’s different about this spot. Damiano spends extra time arranging the soil, making it look natural, then sprinkles more seeds across the surface.