If there was one thing Zoe knew about the Pogues, it was that nothing ever stayed quiet for long.

Which was exactly why she found herself standing in the middle of John B's living room the next afternoon, watching in mild horror as JJ waved a firework around like it wasn't a literal explosive.

"JJ, I swear to God—" "Relax, Zoe," he grinned, spinning it between his fingers. "It's not that dangerous." Pope shot him a deadpan look. "You lit my car on fire last time." JJ scoffed. "That was barely a flame."

"It was a flame," Pope argued. "Which is one too many flames to be anywhere near my car." Zoe smirked, plopping down onto the couch next to Kiara. "So, what's the plan this time? Arson? Mild property damage?"

JJ threw an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, Jones. You wound me. You think so little of me." Kiara raised a brow. "You stole a golf cart last week." "That was a social experiment," JJ corrected. "I wanted to see if anyone would stop me."

"They did stop you." "Okay, eventually." Zoe shook her head, laughing. "You're an actual menace."

JJ grinned. "Thank you." John B, who had been rummaging through the kitchen, finally emerged with a case of beers. "Alright, let's get this show on the road."

"Wait, hold on," Zoe said, eyeing the fireworks again. "Where exactly are we setting those off?" JJ's grin stretched wider. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Zoe groaned, flopping back against the cushions. "I swear to God, if I end up in another police report—" "Technically," Pope interrupted, "your name was redacted last time."

"Oh, great," Zoe deadpanned. "That makes me feel so much better." Kiara laughed, nudging her with her foot. "Come on, you know you love it." And, well... she did.

For all the chaos, for all the questionable decisions, for all the JJ-isms that somehow always turned into something insane—this was the only place she felt like herself. So, with a resigned sigh, she grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and smirked.

"Alright, idiots. Let's do this."

An hour later, they were on the beach, the sun hanging low in the sky as the first firework whistled into the air. Zoe stood with Kiara and Pope near the water, watching as JJ and John B ran around like actual children, setting off one after another.

"You think they'll get arrested?" Kiara asked, sipping her drink. Pope sighed. "At this point, I think the cops have just accepted it." Zoe laughed, kicking at the sand. "I give it ten minutes before someone complains."

Sure enough, just as another firework exploded overhead, a voice rang out from somewhere down the beach— "HEY! YOU CAN'T DO THAT HERE!" JJ turned, grinning wildly. "RUN!"

Zoe cursed under her breath as she bolted after Kiara and Pope, sand flying behind them. JJ and John B were already ahead, whooping like maniacs as they sprinted toward the dock. Zoe couldn't help it—she laughed.

Because this?
This was what made everything worth it.

By the time they made it back to the Château, they were all breathless and laughing, still buzzing from the chaos of their very-nearly-illegal fireworks display.

JJ flopped dramatically onto the couch, stretching out like he personally owned the place. "I just wanna say, that was a top-tier escape. Olympic level."bPope rolled his eyes. "You tripped twice." "I was dodging obstacles."

"They were your own feet." Zoe snorted, grabbing a beer from the cooler. "Gotta admit, that was probably our cleanest getaway yet."

Kiara grinned, dropping onto the floor next to her. "No cops. No angry Karen threatening to 'call the authorities.' We're making progress." John B shook his head as he plopped into a chair. "Give it time. JJ'll find a way to get us arrested by sunrise."

JJ held a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "You guys act like I try to cause problems. "You do try," Pope said. JJ grinned. "And I succeed."

Zoe took a swig of her beer, letting the easy flow of their banter settle around her. For the first time all day, her mind wasn't spinning. No Rafe. No Barry. No mess waiting for her back at the trailer. Just the Pogues, the salty night air, and the kind of reckless freedom she craved more than she liked to admit.

For a while, they just sat there—JJ tossing bottle caps at Pope, Kiara braiding a section of Zoe's hair, John B absentmindedly strumming a few chords on his guitar. It was nice. Simple.

And then JJ, because he was JJ, decided the moment was too quiet. "We should play Truth or Dare." Pope groaned. "Absolutely not." JJ ignored him, sitting up. "Zoe, Truth or Dare?"

Zoe smirked, considering. "Dare." JJ wiggled his eyebrows. "Ooooh, bold choice." Kiara laughed. "This is gonna be terrible." JJ grinned. "Okay, okay. I dare you to—" He paused, eyes flickering toward the dock. "—jump in the water right now."

Zoe blinked. "That's it? That's weak, Maybank." JJ smirked. "Oh, my bad. I meant jump in fully clothed." Zoe glanced down at her tank top and jean shorts. "So, normal swimming attire?"

Pope sighed. "Just take the easy dare, Zoe. You know he's gonna get worse." Zoe shrugged, downed the rest of her beer, and stood. "Alright, idiots. Watch and learn."

The others followed her down to the dock, their laughter echoing through the humid night air. Zoe could feel the warmth of the beer buzzing in her veins, making her limbs feel loose, her head light.

JJ walked backward in front of her, grinning like an idiot. "You sure about this, Jones?" Zoe smirked. "Oh, I'm so sure." Kiara nudged Pope. "Ten bucks says she bails last second."

Zoe scoffed, stepping up to the edge of the dock. "I never bail." JJ waggled his eyebrows. "Prove it." Without another word, Zoe took a deep breath—and jumped.

The second she hit the water, the cool rush knocked the air from her lungs, swallowing the laughter, the noise, everything. For a moment, she just let herself float, the world above a distorted blur of muffled voices and rippling light. Then, breaking the surface, she gasped in a lungful of night air, pushing her hair out of her face.

JJ threw his arms in the air. "Hell yeah!" John B laughed, clapping. "Alright, alright, respect." Zoe smirked, treading water. "Told you I wouldn't bail."

Kiara rolled her eyes but smiled. "Okay, okay, you win." Pope sighed. "I can't believe you actually did it." JJ grinned. "That's why she's one of us." Something about that made warmth bloom in Zoe's chest.

Because despite everything—despite the chaos waiting for her back at the trailer, despite the way Rafe had shown up like a storm she couldn't outrun, despite all the things she didn't tell them—here, in this moment, she was just Zoe.

Not Barry's sister. Not someone caught in the crossfire of Kooks and criminals. Just a Pogue, dripping wet in the middle of the night, laughing with the only people who had ever really felt like home.

"Alright, your turn, Maybank," Zoe called, still floating. JJ scoffed. "Pfft. Please. I would never—" Before he could finish, Kiara shoved him hard enough that he went flailing off the dock with a very ungraceful yelp.

Zoe burst out laughing as he resurfaced, spluttering. "Kiara!" She shrugged innocently. "What? I thought you liked fun." JJ wiped water from his face, eyes narrowing. "You are so dead."

And just like that, the night turned into a blur of splashing, shoving, and JJ trying (and failing) to dunk anyone

Zoe pulled her bike up to the trailer just after midnight, the rush of laughter and adrenaline from the Château fading into the heavy stillness of home.

Except it didn't really feel like home anymore. The second she stepped onto the porch, the shift in atmosphere was suffocating. The air was thick—not with summer humidity, but with something else. Something darker.

A single light glowed in the living room window, casting long shadows against the dirt. The porch smelled like stale cigarettes, the ashtray overflowing. Zoe's stomach twisted. She pushed the door open carefully.

Inside, Barry was slouched at the kitchen table, counting out cash. Not just a few bills—stacks. The kind of money that didn't come from selling dime bags to rich Kooks. Zoe's throat tightened.

He didn't even look up. "You're late." Zoe shut the door behind her. "Didn't know I had a curfew." Barry huffed a humorless laugh, still focused on the money. "You don't. But you should be smarter than rollin' in this late."

Zoe crossed her arms. "Didn't know I had to run my schedule by you either." Now, Barry looked up. His expression was hard, his eyes sharp. But there was something else there too—something that almost looked like guilt.

Zoe's stomach churned. Her gaze flickered across the room—empty beer cans on the counter, a half-smoked blunt in the ashtray, a duffel bag shoved against the far wall.

And next to it— Her heart stopped. A gun.

Not Barry's usual one—the rusted old pistol he kept for protection. This one was different. Sleek. Expensive. New.

Zoe swallowed hard. "Barry... what the hell is going on?" Barry exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. "It's just business." Her jaw clenched. "What kind of business?" Barry didn't answer. He didn't need to. Because Zoe already knew.

She turned away, her chest tight, her hands shaking. The warmth of earlier—the laughter, the normalcy—felt a million miles away now. This place, this life—it wasn't hers anymore. Not really. Because the deeper Barry got, the closer she was to getting dragged under too.