The Chateau felt safer than anywhere else on the island. The night air was thick with salt and humidity, but Zoe felt lighter just being there—away from the entitled sneers, the bullshit hierarchy of Figure Eight, and the lingering sting of Rafe's hands on her arms.

After the chaos at Midsummers, they had run. Well, JJ had run. Zoe and the others had just power-walked aggressively until they were safely off club property. Now, they were spread across the Chateau, half-drunk on stolen champagne, trying to shake off the weight of the night.

JJ was sitting on the porch, flicking his lighter open and closed, his knee bouncing. "Well, that was fun."

"Fun?" Kiara scoffed. "We got kicked out. Again." John B shrugged. "At least nobody got arrested." Pope shot Zoe a look. "Yet." Zoe rolled her eyes, slouching back against the couch. "She had it coming."

Kiara grinned. "That's the truth." Pope sighed. "I just don't get how Sarah still stands there and lets it happen." The energy shifted. Because Sarah wasn't here. And she should have been.

Zoe felt a twinge of guilt she hated. She still wasn't sure how she felt about Sarah Cameron. She wanted to hate her—because the rest of the Pogues did, because she was a Kook and Kooks weren't supposed to be trusted. But she wasn't just a Kook. She was also the girl who had looked at her, right before security kicked them out, like she actually felt bad.

Like she wanted to do something. And maybe, once, Zoe would've believed that. But now? "Sarah's just like the rest of them," JJ muttered, flicking his lighter shut. "She doesn't care."

John B, who had been suspiciously quiet, spoke up. "I don't know, man. I think she does." That made everyone pause. JJ frowned. "What?"

John B hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair. "I talked to her. Before tonight. She—" He sighed. "I think she wants out." Pope scoffed. "Out of what? Her perfect little Kook life?"

"Dude, her dad's a psycho," John B said, exasperated. "You know that." Zoe exchanged a look with Kiara. Because yeah, they knew. Everyone knew.

Ward Cameron was the worst kind of rich—powerful, manipulative, and willing to do whatever it took to stay at the top. JJ rolled his eyes. "So what? We're supposed to just let her in?"

John B exhaled. "I don't know." No one spoke for a long moment. And then Kiara, softly, said, "We let Zoe in." Zoe blinked.

JJ's jaw tensed. "That's different." Kiara raised an eyebrow. "Is it?" JJ didn't answer.

Zoe shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "I don't want to be part of whatever this is," she muttered. "I don't even like Sarah Cameron." John B looked at her. "You don't hate her either."

Zoe sighed. "No. I don't." Because how could she? Sarah Cameron had spent years walking around Figure Eight like she had it all. And maybe she did. But Zoe knew better than anyone that having everything didn't mean you weren't still miserable.

Sarah Cameron wasn't like the other Kooks. And neither was Rafe. Zoe froze at the thought, her own mind betraying her. Rafe.

She still hadn't figured out what the hell had happened back at Midsummers. He had stopped her. Held her back. Spoken to her like he actually cared if she lost her shit.

That was new. And she didn't like it.

Zoe was supposed to be at the Chateau, but she couldn't stop thinking. So she found herself walking toward Barry's trailer instead, shoving her hands into the pockets of JJ's old hoodie. The Cut was quiet, the streets dark except for the occasional flicker of a porch light.

When she finally reached the trailer, she hesitated—because there, leaning against his truck, was Rafe.
Alone. She almost turned around. Almost pretended she hadn't seen him. But then he looked up.

Zoe sighed. "What the hell are you doing here?" Rafe smirked, like he was amused she even asked. "Didn't think you'd be back so soon." She rolled her eyes, stepping past him. "Not all of us have mansions to sleep in, Cameron."

Rafe's smirk faltered. And for some reason, that made her pause. "You don't have to stay here," he said after a moment. Zoe blinked. "Uh, yeah, I do."

Rafe shrugged, looking out toward the dark streets. "You could stay at the Chateau. You basically live there now anyway." She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you care?" He was quiet for a second too long.

Then, softly, he said, "Because I know what it's like to go home to a place that doesn't feel like one."

So she didn't. Instead, she just turned away, stepping into the trailer, leaving him standing there in the dark. Zoe stood inside the trailer, but she didn't move. Rafe was still out there.

She could feel it. Through the thin walls, she could hear him shift against his truck, a sharp breath exhaling into the night. He wasn't in a rush to leave.

And that—that—was weird. Because Rafe Cameron didn't linger. He didn't just exist quietly like this, not without a reason. Zoe chewed on her lip, staring at the peeling wallpaper in front of her.

Something was different tonight. Maybe it was the way he'd held her back at Midsummers instead of just letting her go off the rails. Or maybe it was the way he said I know what it's like—like for the first time in their long, messy history, he wasn't just talking to her. He was saying something real.

And Zoe didn't know what the hell to do with that. So, against her better judgment, she turned back around. When she pushed open the door again, Rafe was still there, just like she knew he would be.

He looked at her, expectant. "Changed your mind already?" Zoe huffed. "Shut up." Rafe smirked. But it wasn't his usual cocky, I-run-this-island smirk. It was softer. Like he wasn't trying to piss her off for once.

She folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Why are you still here?" Rafe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "Why are you still here?" She rolled her eyes. "That's not an answer."

"Neither was that." She scowled. "You're annoying."
He smiled, actually smiled, and shrugged. "You love it." Zoe was too exhausted to argue.

Instead, she just watched him. And the longer she did, the more she realized how off he looked. Not in the usual Rafe Cameron is dangerous way, but in a he looks tired way.

His shirt was wrinkled, his knuckles were still faintly bruised from a fight she hadn't seen happen, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were shadowed in a way she'd never paid attention to before. Zoe wasn't stupid.

She knew Rafe Cameron was unraveling, had been for a long time. She'd seen glimpses of it—the erratic behavior, the desperation to prove himself, the messiness of it all. But what she hadn't expected was this side of him. The one that stayed behind. The one that didn't push her away when she asked why.

She exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. "Go home, Rafe." For a second, it looked like he was going to argue. But then, he nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
And then, just like that, he got into his truck and left. And Zoe was left standing in the doorway, watching his taillights disappear into the night, wondering why the hell it felt like something had shifted between them.

Zoe should've slept in. Instead, she found herself at the Chateau before noon, sprawled out on the couch while JJ paced the living room.

JJ was grumbling, tossing a golf ball in the air and catching it, his brows furrowed. John B was sitting at the table, chewing on an apple. "Dude. Just say it."

JJ made a face. "Say what?" Kiara, from the kitchen, rolled her eyes. "That you're still mad about Sarah."

JJ scoffed. "I don't care about Sarah." "Uh-huh," Pope muttered, flipping through a book. Zoe stretched, watching him. "You totally care." JJ stopped pacing and pointed at her. "You don't get to talk, Traitor."

Zoe blinked. "Excuse me?" JJ narrowed his eyes. "You and Rafe were having a whole moment last night." Zoe felt heat crawl up her neck. "We did not have a moment."

JJ scoffed. "You so did." Kiara perked up. "Wait, what happened with Rafe?" Zoe groaned, throwing an arm over her face. "Nothing happened." JJ smirked. "That's not what it looked like."

Zoe lifted her arm just enough to glare at him. "I swear to God, Maybank—" But before JJ could tease her further, the front door swung open— And there stood Sarah Cameron. The room went silent.

Tension thickened. Zoe sat up, watching as Sarah hesitated in the doorway, her hands gripping the strap of her bag like she was expecting them to yell at her.

JJ tensed, his grip tightening around the golf ball. John B, though, exhaled and stood. "Hey." Sarah's lips parted slightly, like she hadn't expected that reaction. "...Hey." JJ made a disgusted noise. "Oh, hell no." Pope shot him a look. "JJ—" JJ pointed at Sarah. "Why is she here?"

Sarah opened her mouth, then closed it. For a second, she looked unsure. Then, finally, she lifted her chin. "Because I don't want to be there anymore." Zoe's brows furrowed slightly.

Sarah wasn't talking about Midsummers. She was talking about Figure Eight. JJ let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, what, you suddenly hate your perfect life?"

Sarah's jaw clenched. "It's not perfect." JJ scoffed. "Could've fooled me." John B stepped between them. "Okay, enough." He turned to Sarah. "You sure about this?" Sarah hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yeah." John B nodded. "Alright, then. You're in."

JJ exploded. "WHAT?!" Sarah looked surprised too. "Wait, really?" John B shrugged. "You wanna be a Pogue? Fine. But it's not just a title, Sarah. It's a lifestyle."

Sarah smirked, and for the first time, Zoe saw a glimpse of the girl who had once been her opponent on the soccer field. The girl who fought just as hard as she did. "I can handle it."

JJ muttered something under his breath, but Kiara was grinning. "This is gonna be interesting." Pope just sighed, closing his book. "So, what now?"

Zoe smirked, leaning back. "Now? We get some drinks and see if Little Miss Midsummers can actually hang." Sarah smirked back. "Oh, I can." And just like that, Sarah Cameron was in. Zoe wasn't sure how she felt about it. But she was sure of one thing— This summer was about to get a whole lot messier.