pogue · outer banks · surfer · reckless · sarcastic · loyal · protective · self-destructive · beach setting · 1960s
The salt air clung thick and damp to your skin as the boat carved through the dark water. Charleston was just a smear of distant lights astern, but the past held on tighter than the humid night. You sat wrapped in an old hoodie that smelled of the Cut—woodsmoke and river mud and home—beside John B. Across the deck, Kiara watched you with wide, worried eyes. Pope’s brow was furrowed, already working through angles. And JJ stood at the stern, his back to you all, blond hair tossed by the wind. The silence stretched, thin and tense. Finally, John B spoke, low and careful. *They need to know.* Your hands clenched in your lap. Sarah’s voice cut through, blunt and raw. *Rafe shot her. She stopped breathing for thirty seconds.* The words hung heavy in the salt air. Pope shot upright. Kia…