「 ✦ THE SHERIFF IS DEAD ✦ 」

────

MJ SAT ON THE edge of John B's dock, her fingers picking at the fresh bandage on her arm. The quiet slap of the water against the wood was the only sound that seemed to match the heavy silence hanging between them. The conversation felt like it was spiralling into an abyss, the realization that everything they had worked toward, everything they had risked, had been for nothing. Her stomach churned as the weight of it all settled in, and she couldn't shake the sinking feeling that the rug had been pulled out from under them.

Kiara's voice broke through her thoughts. "You sure he got everything?"

John B was slouched, his eyes distant as he stared at the dock ceiling. "Every bar," he replied with a heavy sigh. "The whole enchilada."

MJ glanced over at Kiara, but she looked away, her eyes avoiding MJ's. The tension between them hadn't gone unnoticed. MJ had sided with Pope instead of Kiara during their argument earlier, and though Kiara's anger was simmering, MJ didn't understand why it still hadn't blown over.

John B grimaced as he struggled to free his hand from his cast, grunting in discomfort. When he finally managed to pull it off with a pained expression, he tossed it aside, slapping his good hand against the dock. "It's not like I expected a happy ending or some shit," he muttered, frustration lacing his words.

MJ was about to say something when a tap on her shoulder caught her attention. She looked up to find JJ, the familiar joint in his hand, offering it to her. He'd once said his weed wasn't for Kooks, especially Kooks like Winslow, but here they were, years later, both in a different place.

Without saying a word, MJ took it from him with a small, tired smile, careful not to inhale too much. Her thoughts were a whirlwind, and the last thing she needed was to be tripping on top of everything else.

"See?" John B said, wiggling all his fingers in front of them, trying to downplay the seriousness of his injury. "It's fine."

"Your arm's gonna be messed up for life," Kiara scolded, her voice sharp with concern.

MJ passed the blunt back to JJ as she tried to find some composure, stifling a small laugh at how they were trying to sneak the smoking from Kiara and Pope. Things had changed so much.

Before Kiara could argue any further, the sound of approaching footsteps made them all look up. Pope was running down the dock, breathless and clearly in a rush. MJ furrowed her brow, confusion racking her. Pope was supposed to be at his interview. What was he doing here?

"Guys!" Pope called out as he came closer, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "I ran all the way here."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "How was the interview, Pope?"

Pope wiped his forehead, his breath still coming in quick bursts. "Don't ask," he groaned, not wasting any time before launching into what was important. "JB... I'm sorry, man. About everything."

John B gave a tired wave, brushing it off. "It's fine..."

Pope's urgency cut through the tension, though. "But I don't have a lot of time," he wheezed, his words coming in quick bursts. "I've got information that's... tactically relevant."

MJ sat up straighter, her ears perked. This wasn't the time for jokes or distractions. She knew Pope, and when he said something was important, it was worth listening to.

"So, before my interview," Pope continued, struggling to regulate his breathing, "my dad told me he was heading down to the private airstrip to cut palms for Cameron's big plane. The plane was too heavy, and needed a longer landing strip to take off."

He paused, letting his words sink in as the rest of the group went silent. MJ's thoughts scrambled. Why did Cameron need a longer airstrip? The pieces didn't fit, but they had to.

Pope looked up at them, his eyes locked with MJ's. "So, I'm sitting there, thinking... Why would Cameron need a longer airstrip to take off? What could be so heavy to weigh it down?"

MJ's heart skipped a beat. It hit her like a punch in the gut. She tried to shake off the feeling of unease creeping over her. Rafe... could he have known about this all along? Had he been using her from the start? The way he had played his cards, always keeping things close to the chest, always making her feel like she was just a pawn.

Was this why Rafe had gotten close to her? Was it all part of a bigger plan? She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like the world was tilting. Had he been in on everything from the beginning?

JJ and the others were still digesting Pope's words, but MJ was already lost in thought. The idea that Rafe might've been playing her this whole time made her blood run cold. Had she been so naive? All the moments they shared, the trust she thought she had built—it could've all been part of his game.

Pope's voice cut through her spiralling thoughts. "Look, I don't know what it means yet, but it's something. I thought you should know."

MJ didn't answer right away. Her gaze drifted out over the dark water, the weight of the unknown pressing on her chest. Had Rafe known? Had he been using her the whole time? The question gnawed at her, but she pushed it aside for now. She couldn't afford to let doubt control her actions—not when things were this complicated.

"Thanks, Pope," she said quietly, trying to steady her breathing. "We'll figure this out."

The air around them shifted as Pope's revelation sank in, and suddenly, everyone was far more alert. MJ could feel the tension lifting, a spark of hope igniting in the group. She had felt her stomach drop just moments before, but now, as Pope spoke, she felt the adrenaline rush back, her heart quickening.

"Gold," JJ finished for Pope, a grin pulling at his lips, his eyes gleaming with excitement. Pope waved his hands around, like a conductor leading an orchestra, a small, relieved chuckle escaping him.

Pope's urgency cut through the excitement. "Guys, this is our chance, but it leaves tonight, and we have to go."

MJ felt the intensity of his words hit her like a jolt of electricity. The window of opportunity was closing fast, and it would be their last shot. There was no more room for hesitation. They had to move. Now.

The excitement she had been holding in returned with a rush, the weight of the past few days lifting off her shoulders, even if just for a moment. She smiled, letting the hope flood back into her chest. "Pope, you're a genius," she said, her voice laced with gratitude.

JJ was already hyping things up, his usual grin plastered on his face. "What's the plan, big man?" he asked John B, nudging him with his elbow.

John B looked between them all, his face lighting up with a mischievous smirk. The mood had shifted, and with it, there was a newfound energy in the group. "We're gonna steal that shit back," he said, his voice filled with determination.

The words hit MJ like a punch to the gut but in a good way. There was fire in John B's eyes, and for the first time in what felt like ages, MJ felt like they were finally taking control of their fate. No more being manipulated. No more running from the truth. They were going to fight for what they deserved.

The others were already hyped up, their movements quick as they scrambled to get everything ready. MJ stood up, her mind racing with the plan forming in her head. She glanced over at JJ, who was already at the van, ready for action, but she couldn't shake the gnawing thought at the back of her mind.

Had Rafe known about this the whole time? Had he been playing her from the start? She pushed the thought away, trying to focus on the here and now. But the worry crept in—had she been so blind to everything happening around her? Rafe's manipulation felt like a trap, one she might have walked right into. What if he had been using her all along, just another pawn in his game? The idea made her skin crawl, but she couldn't dwell on it—not now.

They couldn't afford to think about what-ifs. They had to focus on getting to the gold, on making this last shot count. MJ knew that if they didn't act fast, they'd lose everything. The weight of the moment hit her hard. She wasn't just fighting for herself anymore—this was about the whole group, about the people who'd stood by her despite everything. This was the last chance.

She ran toward the van, adrenaline surging through her, but the thought of Rafe lingered, like a shadow she couldn't escape. Would he come after them once he realized they were trying to take back what was theirs? Could she trust him? Would he turn on her? There were so many unanswered questions, but for now, there was no time to figure them out. She had to stay focused.

This was it. The big moment. The one shot they had to make everything right. There was no turning back now.

As MJ slid into the van, her fingers immediately hovered over her phone, the familiar buzz of a new notification vibrating in her pocket. She hesitated for only a second before pulling it out, her pulse quickening as she saw the string of missed messages from Rafe. She clicked on the thread, her heart pounding in her chest.

Where are you?

MJ?

I need to hear from you. Please.

Are you okay?

This isn't what it looks like.

Her breath hitched as she scrolled through the frantic texts, each one growing more desperate than the last. Her stomach churned, the knot of uncertainty tightening as she realized Rafe had been reaching out all night, probably wondering where she was, why she hadn't answered. He was looking for her—wasn't he? Or was he just trying to keep her in the dark, keep her close enough to control?

She ran a hand over her face, frustration and doubt flooding her thoughts. Did he know about this all along? The possibility gnawed at her. He had known about the gold, had known what they were planning, and he hadn't said a word. Not one word of warning. Had he been using her from the start, just to get closer to the treasure? Was this all part of his plan? She could hear his voice in her head, smooth and charming, just like it always was when he wanted something from her.

Please just trust me, one of his messages said. I'm doing this for you.

For a moment, MJ wanted to throw the phone out the window, to scream at him, to call him out for every lie and every manipulation. But that wouldn't solve anything. She had bigger problems now. They all did.

She glanced up to see JJ giving her a questioning look from the driver's seat. He was already revving the engine, ready to go. The others were on edge, too, their eyes darting back and forth between her and the dark road ahead. They were moving. The plan was in motion.

MJ tucked her phone back into her pocket, but the questions and doubts lingered. She knew she couldn't keep ignoring the way Rafe had been pulling at her strings. She had to figure out what this all meant—who Rafe was and what his intentions were. But not now. Not when John B was out there when their chance at the gold was slipping away.

"Let's just go," she muttered to herself, trying to shove the unsettling feeling back down.

But as the van sped off into the night, her mind raced with the words she couldn't shake—Was Rafe in this with them?

────

The group sat in a tense silence on John B's dock, the sound of waves gently lapping against the wood doing little to calm their nerves. MJ Maybank, perched cross-legged near the edge, tugged absentmindedly at the fresh bandage wrapped around her arm, her mind racing. The news John B had just dropped sat like a weight in her chest: everything they had worked for, every risk they had taken, was for nothing.

"You sure he got everything?" Kiara's voice broke through the quiet, her tone clipped as she directed the question to John B.

"Every bar," John B confirmed, his voice heavy. He stared up at the ceiling of the dock, frustration etched into every line of his face. "The whole enchilada."

MJ glanced at Kiara, but Kiara avoided her gaze. The tension between them had been palpable for days, ever since MJ had sided with Pope in an argument. Whatever grudge Kiara was holding onto didn't seem to be fading anytime soon. MJ sighed, peeling a piece of tape off her bandage and sticking it onto the dock beside her.

John B grunted as he struggled to free his hand from the cast he had been wearing. "It's not like I expected a happy ending or anything," he muttered, slapping his hand against the dock once it was free.

"You should care," Kiara shot back, her scolding tone unwavering. "Your arm's going to be messed up for life."

JJ, sitting just above MJ on the dock, leaned down and tapped her shoulder, offering her a hit from his blunt. MJ gave him a small smile, hesitating for only a moment before taking it. The tension in her chest eased slightly as she took a careful drag.

"I don't get it," MJ said suddenly, breaking the silence after passing the blunt back to JJ. Her voice was tinged with frustration. "How did they even know where to find it all? It's not like we left a treasure map lying around."

Her words hung in the air for a moment before Kiara muttered, "Maybe someone tipped them off."

The insinuation made MJ's stomach twist, but before she could respond, Pope came running up the dock, panting heavily. "Guys! I've got news!" he shouted, doubling over to catch his breath.

Pope launched into an explanation about the private airstrip and the gold being loaded onto Ward Cameron's plane. As he talked, MJ's thoughts drifted. Her heart pounded as a realization crept over her—a realization she'd been avoiding for days. She had slept with Rafe Cameron, and now she couldn't help but wonder if he'd known about their plans all along. Had he played her? Used her? Or worse, had he figured out that she was starting to fall for him?

"MJ!" JJ's voice snapped her out of her spiralling thoughts. He was watching her closely, his brow furrowed. "You good?"

She nodded quickly, forcing herself to focus as the group began brainstorming their next move. But even as they plotted their plan to steal the gold back, MJ couldn't shake the knot in her chest. She could feel JJ's eyes on her, the twin intuition that meant he knew something was wrong, even if she hadn't said it out loud.

Finally, as the group piled into the van, MJ pulled JJ aside. "I need to tell you something," she said, her voice low enough that the others wouldn't hear.

"What's up?" JJ asked, his usual easygoing demeanour replaced with a rare seriousness.

MJ hesitated, her hands twisting nervously. "I slept with Rafe."

JJ froze, his eyes narrowing. "You what?"

"And it wasn't just once," MJ admitted, her voice cracking. "I don't know how it happened. I mean, I know how, but—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "I think I was starting to fall for him, JJ."

JJ's expression shifted from shock to anger. "You're kidding me. Rafe Cameron? The guy's a psycho, MJ! He's the enemy!"

"I know!" MJ shot back, her voice rising. "Do you think I don't know that? But what if he knew about all of this, JJ? What if he's the reason they found the gold?"

JJ ran a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps away before turning back to her. "You're telling me this now? Right before we're about to go after Ward? You think Rafe sold us out, and you—" He stopped, visibly trying to rein in his frustration. "We'll deal with this later, okay? Right now, we have to focus."

MJ's stomach churned. She picked at the edge of the dock with a fingernail, unable to shake the dread bubbling in her chest. "Everything we worked for... gone." Her voice was barely above a whisper, her thoughts circling like vultures. She felt the weight of failure pressing down on her—a failure that came with the sneaking suspicion that Rafe had known what they were doing all along.

"How long do you think he's been onto us?" she finally asked, glancing at her twin brother, JJ.

JJ, perched above her on the railing, exhaled a plume of smoke from the blunt he'd been nursing. He passed it down to MJ with a shrug, his trademark nonchalance masking his swirling thoughts. "Does it matter? The dude's been one step ahead this whole time. Probably has cameras hidden in every damn palm tree on this island."

MJ took a hit, her hands shaking as she passed it back to him. She tried to block out the wave of paranoia that came with JJ's words. She needed to focus. "If Rafe knew... then what else does he know?" she muttered, half to herself.

"He's been watching," JJ replied casually, but there was an edge to his tone that MJ could recognize even when no one else could. "We know how he operates. Dude loves to mess with people, especially us." He leaned forward, trying to meet her eyes. "But if you're freaking out MJ, he wins. Don't let him."

MJ clenched her jaw, her worry momentarily overtaken by her brother's words. As much as she hated to admit it, JJ was right. Worrying wouldn't help them, but still... the thought of Rafe keeping tabs on them like some kind of puppet master left her uneasy. She turned her attention back to John B, who was now prying off his cast with a grunt.

"Seriously, John B?" Kiara groaned, crossing her arms. "Your arm is going to be messed up for life."

John B waved her off, wiggling his fingers in exaggerated defiance. "I'm fine. See?"

MJ rolled her eyes but bit back a comment. She'd seen enough chaos in the last 48 hours to know that debating with John B wasn't worth the energy. Instead, she glanced up as Pope's voice broke through the group's bubble of tension. He was running toward them, panting heavily.

"Guys!" Pope shouted, his voice breathless but urgent. "I have information—tactically relevant information!"

The group snapped to attention. MJ's heart rate spiked as she locked eyes with Pope. "What is it?"

Pope took a second to catch his breath before diving into the details. "My dad said he was cutting palms down at the private airstrip. Cameron's plane needed a longer runway to take off."

"Because it's carrying something heavy," JJ finished for him, his interest now fully piqued.

"Exactly," Pope nodded, looking around at the group with wide eyes. "Guys, it's the gold. It's gotta be. But the plane's leaving tonight. If we're going to stop them, we have to move now."

A renewed sense of urgency buzzed through the group. MJ felt the faintest flicker of hope reignite in her chest. "Then we're stealing it back," she said firmly, her voice steadier than she felt.

JJ grinned, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "That's my twin. Knew you had it in you."

The plan, as usual, was chaotic and half-baked, but the Pogues didn't have the luxury of time. Within minutes, they were in the van, racing toward the airstrip. MJ's mind raced alongside them. She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, but in the back of her mind, the same thought kept creeping in: If Rafe knew before... does he already know now?

By the time they reached the airstrip, her hands were trembling, though she refused to let it show. She hopped out of the van and followed the others toward the fence that separated them from the runway.

"What's the plan?" Kiara asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

"Broad strokes," John B replied distractedly, his fingers curling into the metal fence as he squinted at the distant plane.

MJ couldn't help but smirk. "It's almost like someone said your plan wasn't well thought out."

JJ shot her a look, mock annoyance on his face. "Yucatan, MJ. Think Yucatan."

"Yucatan doesn't sound so great when we're facing Ward Cameron and a private plane," she shot back, her worry bleeding into her tone. But before anyone could respond, Pope handed John B the binoculars, and everything shifted.

John B's face hardened. "That's Ward... and Sarah."

The air seemed to leave MJ's lungs. Sarah? The one person who had started to feel like an ally? MJ shook her head in disbelief. "There's no way she's involved."

"Are we surprised?" Kiara muttered, but MJ barely heard her. Her focus was on the figures in the distance, trying to piece together the betrayal she hoped wasn't real.

And then John B dropped the real bombshell: "He's hurting her."

The group sprung into action as John B took off in the van, barreling through the fence. MJ ran after him, her heart pounding as she tried to keep up. Everything felt like it was spiralling out of control, but one thing was certain: they weren't letting Ward Cameron get away with this. Not this time.

As Pope and Kiara sprinted off toward the plane, MJ stayed behind, her feet frozen to the ground, unable to follow. She crouched behind a cluster of thick bushes, her heart pounding wildly against her ribs as she watched the chaos unfold on the tarmac. The golden glow of the setting sun was starkly at odds with the scene playing out before her.

John B was running now, his figure a blur as he made a beeline for Sarah. She was clutching onto Ward Cameron, her cries lost to the sound of the plane's engines roaring to life. MJ's breath caught in her throat as she watched John B reach Sarah, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward him.

"Sarah!" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of noise. "Come with me! You don't have to do this!"

Ward's grip on his daughter tightened, his face contorted with fury. "Get your hands off her!" he roared, shoving John B backward. Sarah stumbled, caught between the two men, her face pale and stricken.

MJ's nails dug into her palms as she crouched lower, her body tensed. She could see the desperation in John B's eyes, the way he refused to let go of Sarah even as Ward grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him again. John B stumbled but didn't relent.

"You don't own her!" John B spat, his voice raw. "She's not a part of your sick plan!"

Ward's laugh was cold, chilling. "She's my daughter. She knows where she belongs."

Sarah was screaming now, trying to wriggle free from Ward's grip. "Stop it! Both of you, stop!" But neither man listened.

The sharp blare of a siren cut through the chaos, and MJ's breath hitched as Sheriff Peterkin appeared, stepping out of her SUV with her gun drawn. "Ward Cameron!" she barked, her tone commanding. "Step away from him, now!"

Everything froze. Ward turned slowly, his hand still clutching Sarah's arm, his expression shifting into one of feigned confusion. "Sheriff, this isn't what it looks like—"

"It's exactly what it looks like," Peterkin snapped, her gun steady. "I know everything, Ward. The gold, the plane, the murder. It ends here."

John B staggered backward, pulling Sarah with him, while Ward raised his hands halfway in mock surrender. But MJ's eyes weren't on Ward—they were on the figure moving behind the sheriff.

Rafe.

He emerged from the shadows like a predator stalking prey, his face twisted into a mask of rage and desperation. And in his hand, MJ saw the glint of metal. Her stomach dropped.

"Rafe..." she whispered to herself, her heart hammering in her chest. He raised the gun, his eyes wild and unblinking, and aimed it directly at Peterkin.

"No," MJ breathed, her voice barely audible even to herself. Every instinct screamed at her to do something, to shout, to run out there and stop him. But her body refused to move. She was rooted to the spot, frozen in place as the scene unfolded in horrifying slow motion.

Peterkin didn't see him. She was too focused on Ward, on keeping the situation contained. But Rafe was shaking, his finger twitching over the trigger, his chest heaving like he couldn't catch his breath.

"Don't do it," MJ mouthed, though she knew he couldn't hear her. "Please don't."

Time seemed to slow. Ward's gaze flicked to Rafe, his eyes widening just slightly, as though realizing what his son was about to do. And then—

The sound of the gunshot rang out, shattering the stillness like glass hitting concrete.

Sheriff Peterkin staggered, her eyes wide with shock as her hand flew to her chest. She crumpled to the ground, her gun clattering uselessly beside her.

MJ's hands flew to her mouth to stifle the scream threatening to escape. Her entire body trembled as she watched Ward turn to Rafe, his expression unreadable.

"What did you do?!" Ward hissed, rushing toward his son. But Rafe wasn't listening. His eyes were locked on the sheriff's body, his breathing erratic, his hands shaking.

"I—I had to," Rafe stammered, his voice cracking. "She was gonna take everything! She was gonna ruin us!"

MJ's heart was racing, panic clawing at her throat as she shrank further into the bushes. Her mind reeled, trying to process what she had just witnessed. The man she'd slept with, the man she'd started to fall for, had just shot a sheriff in cold blood.

MJ's breath was trapped in her chest, but the scream clawed its way out before she could stop it. It tore through the chaos, raw and broken, making every head turn toward her hiding spot. She stumbled out of the bushes, trembling, her hands shaking violently as she pointed at Rafe.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she screamed, her voice cracking with disbelief. "You shot her! You—she was going to help us!"

Ward whipped around to face MJ, his face pale as a ghost. His panic spilled out in frantic, stammering words. "What did you do, Rafe? What did you do?!"

"I did it for us!" Rafe shouted back, his voice high-pitched and desperate. His wild eyes darted between his father, MJ, and the sheriff crumpled on the ground. "For you! For Sarah! For the family! She was going to take everything, Dad! I—I saved us!"

Ward's hands clawed at his hair, his composure unravelling. He kept muttering the same phrase over and over, as though trying to make sense of the chaos. "What did you do? What did you do, Rafe?!"

But MJ wasn't looking at Ward anymore. Her eyes were glued to Sheriff Peterkin, lying motionless on the tarmac. Blood seeped through her shirt, staining the ground beneath her. Her breathing was shallow, wheezing, and MJ could see the life slipping away from her with each laboured gasp.

"No, no, no," MJ murmured, shaking her head violently. Her hands flew to her head, her fingers digging into her scalp. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real. She had already lived through enough horrors this summer, but this—this was different. This was final.

Peterkin's hand twitched weakly, reaching for her gun. Her eyes fluttered open, locking with MJ's. And for a brief moment, MJ saw something that broke her: hope. The sheriff was still fighting. She still thought she had a chance.

Without thinking—without feeling—MJ's body moved on autopilot. She walked toward Rafe, her footsteps slow and deliberate. He turned to her, his face twisted in a mix of confusion and relief.

"MJ, I—" Rafe started, but his words died in his throat when she grabbed the gun from his hands. His grip was slack, unresisting, as though he didn't believe she'd do anything with it.

Ward shouted something, but MJ didn't hear it. Her world was muffled, her vision narrowing as she stared down at the sheriff struggling for breath. Her chest heaved as she raised the gun, her fingers curling around the trigger.

Rafe stepped toward her, panic flaring in his voice. "What are you doing?!"

MJ's lips trembled as she glared at him. "You've already ruined everything, Rafe. You've already killed her - I'm putting her out of misery."

She turned her gaze back to Peterkin, whose eyes were half-lidded now, the fight in them fading. MJ's finger tightened on the trigger, her hands trembling violently.

The shot rang out, splitting the air and cutting through the night like a knife. The sheriff's body jolted before going still, completely still. The wheezing stopped. The fight was gone.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. The world felt like it had stopped turning.

And then Rafe's voice broke through, sharp and desperate. "MJ, what did you do?!"

She turned slowly, her face blank, numb. The gun slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground at her feet. Her ears rang as Ward grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her violently.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" Ward bellowed, his face inches from hers. "Do you realize what you've just done?!"

"I ended it," MJ whispered, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "She was already dying. She would've turned us all in."

Ward released her, stumbling back as though her words had struck him. Rafe stood frozen, his face pale, his lips parted in shock. He stared at MJ like he didn't recognize her.

"What the hell is wrong with you people?" MJ muttered, backing away from them. Her voice broke, her hands still shaking. "You... you've turned me into this."

Rafe's voice cracked as he called out to her. "MJ, wait—"

But she was already running. Away from the plane. Away from the blood. Away from the life she had just taken. Away from the man she had foolishly thought she could love.

────

MJ didn't know how long she had been running, but her legs burned by the time she reached the others. She skidded to a halt when she saw John B standing in the alley, swaying on his feet, his shirt and hands smeared with blood.

JJ and Kiara were already there, their voices frantic.

"Dude! Dude, are you good?" JJ was shouting, gripping John B's arms and inspecting his hands like he was trying to assess the damage.

"Oh my God, John B!" Kiara's voice cracked as she tried to get him to respond.

MJ forced herself to swallow down the bile rising in her throat as she stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. "John B, whose blood is that? Is it yours?"

John B blinked, his glazed-over eyes slowly focusing on her. His lips parted, but no words came out.

"John B, answer me!" MJ demanded, her voice shaking.

The sound of approaching sirens cut through the tension, growing louder and louder. JJ grabbed John B, dragging him toward a stack of cardboard boxes nearby. "We need to hide. Now."

They all crouched low, the wailing sirens shooting past them like bullets. The group huddled behind the boxes, holding their breaths until the sound faded into the distance.

MJ leaned closer to John B, her expression hard. "John B, I need answers. Now. What happened?"

He was trembling now, his eyes fixed on the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper, raw and broken. "Rafe Cameron... he shot Peterkin. She's dead."

MJ's stomach churned, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. She couldn't let him know the truth—not now, not ever. She clenched her fists tightly, the phantom weight of the gun still lingering in her fingers.

"What the hell happened out there?" JJ muttered, his voice tense.

John B didn't answer. His eyes were glassy, staring off into the distance as if reliving the nightmare.

Kiara reached out and shook his arm. "John B, we need to know everything. Did anyone see you? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head slightly, but it was clear he wasn't entirely present. MJ glanced at him, her guilt clawing at her chest. John B might've been in the middle of the chaos, but he didn't pull the trigger—not like she did.

She turned away, her heart pounding. The sirens were gone, but the weight of what had happened at the airstrip was suffocating. They needed a plan, and fast. But for now, she had to make sure no one found out the truth about what she had done.

For now, MJ would carry the burden alone.

────

The sun had set by the time Kiara pulled into the cracked asphalt of the police station parking lot. Tension radiated through the cramped space of the car. MJ sat squished in the very back next to her twin brother, JJ. It wasn't ideal—two bodies shoved into a seat designed for one—but MJ wasn't about to sit up front with Kiara. The air between her and Kie had been icy ever since the party, and MJ wasn't in the mood to thaw it.

"John B," JJ's voice was sharp, cutting through the silence as Kiara yanked the keys out of the ignition and twisted around to face them. "Why the hell are we at the police station?"

"Somebody has to tell them what happened," John B said quietly, his voice cracking. He stared straight ahead, gripping the door handle like it was the only thing keeping him upright. MJ could feel the weight of his words, but her stomach churned at the thought of what telling the cops might mean.

"That's a terrible idea," JJ shot back, his tone dropping into a low growl. "You can't go in there. You're walking straight into the lion's den. The cops aren't on your side. Never have been, never will be."

"JJ's right," Pope added, leaning back and blowing out a puff of smoke. His chest heaved as a coughing fit overtook him. "You can't trust the police."

"Alright, that's enough," MJ snapped, swiping at the joint in Pope's hand. He pulled it away just in time, and MJ threw her hands up in frustration. "This isn't about trust; it's about getting ahead of this before it spirals even more out of control."

"Spoken like a true Kook," JJ muttered, rolling his eyes.

MJ's gaze sharpened as she whipped around to glare at him. "I'm sorry, JJ, did the middle of my sentence interrupt the beginning of yours?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Tensions between the twins had been running high all day, and this wasn't helping.

"Guys, stop," Kiara cut in, her tone exasperated. "This isn't about you two."

"They need to know," John B said again, firmer this time. "Peterkin was the only one who ever tried to help me. I owe her that."

JJ scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. "You're gonna walk in there with blood on your hands and hope for the best? Yeah, solid plan, man. Real solid."

But John B was already getting out of the car, shutting the door softly behind him. The rest of them sat in stunned silence, watching as he disappeared into the building.

Three agonizing minutes later, the front doors of the station burst open, and John B came barreling toward the car. His eyes were wild, his movements frantic. "Start the car, Kie! Start the car!"

"What happened?" MJ demanded, her voice rising as panic gripped her chest. She strained to see what—or who—was chasing him, but John B was already yanking the door open and shoving himself inside.

"Drive, Kie, now!" he shouted, slamming the door behind him.

Kiara didn't hesitate, throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of the lot. They sped down the dimly lit street, the tension in the car thick and suffocating.

"What did you do?" JJ asked, his voice teetering between anger and disbelief.

"I didn't do anything!" John B snapped, his breathing ragged. "But they're framing me. Ward and Rafe... they pinned Peterkin's murder on me."

The words hit MJ like a sledgehammer. Her stomach twisted violently, and her hands balled into fists. She could feel JJ's eyes flicker toward her, but she avoided his gaze. He didn't know. None of them did. They didn't know that she had pulled the trigger to finish Peterkin off. They didn't know that Rafe and Ward weren't the only ones to blame.

"Framed you? How?" Kiara demanded, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel.

"They've got evidence," John B said bitterly. "Something about fingerprints, blood—hell, I don't even know. But they're saying I did it."

Pope swore under his breath, his earlier high now completely gone. "This is bad. Really bad."

"It's not just me," John B continued, his voice trembling. "They're saying MJ was there too. That she was an accomplice."

The car went dead silent. All eyes turned to MJ, who sat frozen in her seat.

"That's bullshit," JJ spat, immediately going on the defensive. "MJ didn't do anything. She wasn't even—"

"Doesn't matter," John B interrupted, his voice laced with desperation. "They're gonna come after both of us. We need to figure out what to do. Fast."

MJ's mind raced, the walls of the car suddenly feeling too close, too suffocating. She could still feel the weight of the gun in her hand, the recoil of the shot echoing in her mind. She wanted to scream, to tell them the truth, but she couldn't. If John B didn't know, she wasn't going to be the one to break him even more.

"We'll figure it out," Kiara said firmly, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. "But right now, we need to lay low. Stick together."

As the car sped away from the police station and into the darkness, MJ stared out the window, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger. She wasn't just running from the cops. She was running from the truth—and from herself.