The morning after the explosion, the group scattered.
Their bodies had survived the fire, but their minds—cracked like glass.
Lena couldn't stop replaying Sparrow's voice. Ivy kept drawing the fire again and again. Cameron hadn't spoken. Mira wouldn't leave the shack. And Jaxon—Jaxon had gone hunting.
For answers.
Downtown Hawthorn – 1:12 p.m.
The cafe looked normal. Bohemian. Safe.
But nothing in Hawthorn ever was.
Jaxon spotted her immediately — the woman in the red coat, sipping espresso like she owned the place. She wore dark sunglasses and a diamond-studded necklace. Her heels clicked when she crossed her legs, but her gaze never left him.
He slid into the seat across from her without invitation.
"You're not Sparrow," he said.
"No," she said, smiling. "But I do like birds."
Her voice dripped with suggestion. Older. Confident. Dangerous.
"And teens who think they're men."
Jaxon's jaw flexed. "What do you want?"
She leaned forward. "To offer you a deal."
He leaned back. "Not interested."
"You will be," she said, placing a folded note on the table. "Because if you're not… you'll be the one they bury next."
Then she stood and left — heels clicking down the marble floor, hips swaying like a siren's rhythm.
Jaxon unfolded the note.
"The spy is closer than you think.
She cries at night.
She watches when no one sees.
You kissed her once."
His blood ran cold.
Ivy?
At the Shack
Ivy was staring into the cracked mirror when Jaxon walked in.
"You followed me," he said.
"No, I didn't," Ivy said.
"I was followed. That woman knew things. Things only someone close to us could know."
"You think it's me?" Ivy snapped. "Really?"
"She said the spy cries at night. Watches everything. And that I—"
"Kissed her?" Ivy finished, stepping closer. "Yeah, you did. Doesn't mean I'm Sparrow's little pet."
Jaxon didn't back down. "Then prove it."
Ivy grabbed her sketchbook and threw it at his chest.
"Everything I see, I draw. That's your proof."
He opened the book.
Page after page.
The five of them. The beach. The fire.
Then one he hadn't seen before.
A woman in red. Watching from behind a curtain.
The same woman from the cafe.
He looked up. "When did you draw this?"
Ivy whispered, "Last week."
Elsewhere — Cameron & Lena
They'd driven out of town for a break — or at least a moment to breathe.
They ended up at a boutique hotel where everything was overpriced and the lobby staff were too polite.
But someone had comped their suite.
"Room 607. Reserved under the name Sparrow."
Cameron stared at the keycard.
Lena whispered, "This is a trap."
"Probably," he said. "But we don't run anymore, remember?"
Inside the suite, everything looked elegant.
But laid out on the bed were five outfits. One for each of them.
And a note.
"Play your parts. The masquerade begins tonight."
On the table:
Champagne.
A mask.
And a necklace with Mira's name engraved in gold.