[ xx. hack the system ]

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THE BALMY NORTH CAROLINIAN sun was hot against Willa Deveraux's exposed and darkened skin and the steady, salty breeze of the murky water below did little to cool her down from the growing heat. With August steadily approaching, the shifting coast was only bound to get hotter in the days to come. And stormier, too. The many townspeople of the Outer Banks knew that the ravaging heat wave was imminent and rather than try to properly rebuild what Hurricane Agatha had already broken down, many were ultimately bracing for the worst that was still yet to come.

When another bustling shop on the marina passed out of the corner of Willa's vision, she did not bat an eye at the many employees that were hurriedly trying to board up its windows. Small business owners were doing whatever they could to salvage their stores and their struggling reputations, and while Willa wished that the rich might put aside their snootiness for a single hour to aid those in need, she did not hold out hope. Kooks liked to pretend they were generous, but they were only ever giving to their own egos.

There was one business that continued to rattle around in the back of Willa's mind, though; her muddled attention unable to subside from that fact that there was one person that likely needed her help from the storm. But that extended offer of help would have to be put hold on for another day. Now, she had other issues to attend to.

Willa Deveraux had been foolishly naïve to believe she would actually have a day of rest and relaxation after all of the chaos she had previously been through. The calm could not reach her when she was still in the swells of a darkness that only festered with each passing second, growing heavier and heavier with each breath that she carelessly took. Then again, despite the gloom that pulled on her shoulders, steadily like an anchor crashing towards murky sand, Willa was almost relieved that she was not alone right now. The silence of her own home would have surely gotten to her. Willa knew better than to believe that she might not accidentally strike an unsuspecting member of her own family, believing one of them to be the gunmen, just as she had almost done to Hudson earlier that morning. Her hands were still coiled tightly into fists at her sides as if she were still holding onto the knife.

"You want a drink?"

Willa's light eyes snapped away from the darkened water below and she promptly glanced over her sunburnt shoulder, feeling the softest of knuckles brush against her bare bicep, to see none other than John B. holding his beer bottle out to her from where he sat behind the wheel of the HMS Pogue. The bottle was half-empty, but condensation dripped steadily down the cooled, coppery neck, declaring its freshness and Willa was more than eager to take a sip. "Thank you," She breathed out quietly as she passed the bottle back to the sun-kissed and bruised brunette boy. Settling back into her space on the edge of the rickety motorboat, she tried to not think too greatly on the fact that all she currently had in her system now was a raspberry flavored energy drink and a swallow of booze.

"Damn." JJ Maybank let out a low whistle from where he sat on the edge of the bow, his bare feet ghosting atop the rippling waves as the boat plowed its way north up the marina. "You guys see that?"

Willa turned her attention away from John B. and over to the bare-chested blonde as he not-so-nonchalantly flicked his thumb in the direction of an approaching boat. It was easily larger than the HMS Pogue; sleeker and better, too, but Willa would never say that aloud in the presence of so many pogues who thrived on this vessel for transport across the bitter island. Lifting a hand to shield her eyes as the sun caught the gleaming red coat of the approaching boat, Willa quickly recognized the captain as none other than Topper Thornton. Beside him his prized princess, Sarah Cameron, stood confidently in a skimpy swimsuit that Willa could never imagine pulling off. She owned it, though—Willa could give the kook girl that much of an inch, no matter how much she disliked her general presence.

"What kind of boat is that?" Willa could not help but ask. Her family had never been boat experts. With a father always stuck in the operating room, the Deveraux family never had a reason to be out on the water. How ironic was that? In a town that thrived on yachts, the richest family on the whole entire island did not own a single one. So, consequently, with a lackluster amount of knowledge, Willa could only judge her neighbors' boats by their size and their color, occasionally catching a familiar name on the wind—such as a Grady White. But the sleek red vessel sailing before her was no such thing.

JJ quirked his head back in her direction. With dark shades covering his eyes, the longing of a sage and sapphire meeting was held at bay. Instead Willa focused on his hair, golden locks tussled like a lion's mane from the wind off the water. "That's the Malibu 24-MXZ, sunshine," The pogue boy informed cheekily. "The world's finest wakesetter."

"And that's supposed—"

"You didn't let me finish," JJ clipped, still smirking at her as he lifted a pointed finger. Willa merely rolled her eyes in return. He was thriving in the sun and the booze that surrounded him. "It's number one in luxury, quality, and performance. Worth two-hundred thousand, easy." A moment passed in silence amongst the five teenagers, four-out-of-five pairs of eyes locked on JJ's tightly wound and eager features. But even beneath the spotlight, he was still only looking at Willa. His smirk slowly slipped to an expression more sinister, taunting now. "You got that kind of money laying around, kook bait?"

Despite the ferocity hidden beneath JJ's relaxed tone, Willa found herself smirking back at JJ. "That's a silly question, Maybank," She clipped calmly. "You know that I do."

And then JJ's smirk disappeared from his reddened lips entirely. What did he expect? They both knew that she had the money—even if it were not in her back pocket at the very moment, it was still very much safe-guarded in a bank account. But maybe that was not what stole JJ's triumphant expression away. Maybe he was more shocked at how quickly Willa bit back at him, cocky in her own way without even trying to be.

From the opposite end of the boat, Pope Heyward scoffed and rolled his eyes at Willa and JJ's entire exchange. "I picked the wrong parents," He grumbled to himself, still watching the beautiful boat in the distance.

Willa could not help but let out a snort at the irony in Pope's words. "I don't think that's got anything to do with it, Pope," She cackled. "You're forgetting that my parents are the ones who picked me."

"I hate to break it to you guys," Kiara butted in, lowering the rounded shades on her face down to the bridge of her nose. Her gaze was still locked on the boat sailing ever closer across the narrow stretch of water, her auburn stare shifting to a glare. "but you all are missing the bigger picture of this entire conversation. Regardless of how pretty it looks, that boat automatically became a turn-off once I saw that Topper and his girlfriend were the ones on it."

"Just pretend they aren't there," JJ suggested dryly.

"Easier said than done, JJ," The captain of their own boat grumbled.

John B. refused to acknowledge the sights of Topper Thornton nor Sarah Cameron as their boat went soundlessly sailing past in the opposite direction of the marina. Likewise, neither of the kook teenagers paid the smaller, beaten boat of five slightly boozed teenagers any regard, either. Jesus Christ, Willa blandly thought once the two drastically different boats were far enough away from each other once more, she could cut the echoing tension with a knife. Nonetheless, neither captain of their respective ship was likely willing to recount and embrace the darkness that had nearly resulted in the loss of a life on the Boneyard beach only nights prior.

"She doesn't have to act like she doesn't see us," Kiara snapped in disgust, still looking over her shoulder at Sarah Cameron's disappearing figure. "Bitch."

JJ chuckled at Kiara's words and leaned back until he was lying flat on the bow, kicking his feet up, out of the water and back onto the solid land of the HMS Pogue. "Like two ships passing in the night," He sighed distastefully, turning slightly so that droplets from his ankles dotted Willa's bare, tanned thighs.

"Or two ships passing in the daylight," The curly-haired Deveraux daughter corrected stiffly. "Because, you know, that just happened, too."

"Shove it, kook bait."

Willa smirked, but knew better than to waste her breath on JJ's crude comments and instead opted to turn her body away from the bow so that she would not have to feel the crawl of JJ's piercing blue stare wander along her every move, concealed beneath his blackened shades. Now looking the other way, her sage gaze first went to Pope, but the boy's attention was locked upon Kiara as they peered out across the water, eyeing the devastation that Hurricane Agatha had left in her vicious wake. Willa did not follow their eyes. She did not want to see the marina's crippling state any longer than she already had; it seemed as if each summer the swell of the storm damage only grew worse.

She could not wait to get off this damn island. Only two more years to go . . . That was not so long . . .

Right?

At the soft sound of a clanking bottle, Willa looked towards John B. again, watching silently as he replaced an empty beer bottle with a new full one. As he discarded of the bottle into Kiara's nearby cooler, Willa licked her lips and leaned closer to the older boy. "You got any more of those?" She asked.

John B.'s hickory eyes glanced her way and he softly nodded before bending down to grab another waiting bottle. Without a word he passed it over to her and she smiled gratefully at him, but his attention had already diverted back to the water ahead, missing her gesture completely. Willa's expression dropped uncertainly as she popped the lid of her bottle and took a quiet sip.

The entire boat was silent aside from the quiet murmurs of conversation from Pope and Kiara where they sat at the stern. JJ, to Willa's absolute surprise, was silent, still lying down at the bow with his heads pillowing his head, sunbathing—or sleeping. She could not really tell but she was going to enjoy the quietness of his presence while she could. That still left John B., though. And even though he had always been the quieter of the pair, it was unlike John B. to ever hold his tongue when something was on his mind. Willa had seen that firsthand in his interactions with their teachers when his father had first been presumed dead. She had never seen such rage from him like the day he had stormed out of their shared math class in the early days of his orphaned state, swearing and spitting every curse word in the book, screaming that no educator in the world could possibly understand what he was going through.

"You okay?" Willa found herself questioning before she could stop herself. She carefully glanced between the beer bottle settled between her thighs and then to the taller, broader boy beside her, never allowing her attention to linger too closely anywhere that she looked upon his hardened face.

John B. nodded curtly. "I'm fine," He answered.

In an instant the two teenagers were shot back into an uncomfortable silence. Or, at least to Willa, it felt uncomfortable. Several more moments beat on in an awkward quietness and she took three more hasty sips of her beer, trying to distract herself. It was not working. Willa tucked a stray curl behind her ear and tried to swallow the painful mush that was forming in her chest. "Did I do something?" She pressed. She could not help but think back to the night prior when she had done little more than watch as he openly grieved for his father in the shadows of the Chateau. In that moment she had been afraid to touch him, to hold him. She had felt it had not been her place. Had she been wrong in her assumption? Could she have done more? Her cheeks were burning as she contemplated voicing her deeper thoughts aloud—and for that, she was thankful that John B. had yet to look back at her.

At Willa's feeble question, John B.'s eyes flickered back to her smaller stature and his expression immediately softened, seeing her own faltering one. "No, Willa, you didn't do anything," He quickly reassured her. He then sat up straighter in his seat, but his shoulders were slumped, more relaxed as he continued speaking, "This is my problem, that's all."

A sigh of relief silently slipped between Willa's chapped lips. "Oh . . . Care to elaborate?"

John B.'s lower lip curled between his teeth and his eyes danced darkly from Willa and back to the marshy water. "Let's just say that Topper's lucky that I'm stuck behind this damn wheel," He said.

Willa frowned and crossed her arms loosely over her stomach, forgetting about the beer in her lap completely. Did John B. truly just say that out loud to her? After the brutal fight she had just witnessed between them only days ago? "Or what?" She questioned of the pogue orphan. "Otherwise you'd jump ship and give him a piece of your mind?"

John B.'s eyes could slice through stone with his cold, calloused tone. "Don't tempt me," He warned her. "Because I just might."

Willa set the beer bottle down beside her bare, blistered feet and shuffled further along the boat's edge, nearing closer to where the angered boy sat. He was no longer looking at her, his attention back down to the depths of the water. She could see storms squalling in his burnt gaze, his jaw clenched. Willa did not like seeing such anger to him. It did not frighten her, but it still made her squirm in her own skin. "Well, you can't," She finally uttered out, careful to avoid raising her voice. "Because I don't know how to drive this thing." She dared to crack a gentle smile, hoping to burst the tension before it could capsize the entire boat. Humor was her coping mechanism—she hoped that it might be John B.'s, too. "And, I mean, considering I'm closest to the wheel . . ." She rose a jeweled hand, motioning to where he sat. "It'll be down to me to take over once you go under and that won't be good for anyone."

To her complete and utter surprise, John B.'s bruised lips quirked upwards just the slightest. "At least I won't be on board when this goes down," He commented.

"Hey! I'd like to think that I wouldn't sink the boat, thank you very much, John B.," She chuckled, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I might, maybe, put a dent in it or scratch it up a little, sure—but it's not like any of that will make it an eyesore." She then bent down to grab her abandoned beer bottle once more. "I mean, have you seen this boat already?"

John B.'s eyes snapped to her face in an incredulous stare, his hickory gaze widening in mock surprise as his jaw dipped widely, feigning absolute horror. Willa merely grinned back at him and cockily tilted her bottle up to take a sip. In only seconds, they were both laughing at one another—but beneath the joy in their tones, Willa could still sense that this heavy conversation was far from finished. There was no way that this summer would end without John B. and Topper confronting each other once more, and Willa feared for the bloodshed that might befall them both in the aftermath of their clashing.

Willa inwardly hoped that she might not be there when their fight ultimately happened, but she knew better than to hold onto miracles. Instead she knew that she could only prepare for the unknown—a deadly presence that was beginning to occupy more and more space in her life. And it scared her, no matter how much she tried to deny its existence as it festered its way into the spaces of her frail lungs and weakened bones.

A long moment passed between the two teenagers as their quiet laughter soon died between them. When Willa finally spoke again, her voice was much quieter this time as she pleaded, "Please don't do anything stupid, okay, John B.?"

"I won't," John B. reassured her once more. Why couldn't she believe him? "Not today at least." And there it was. "We have other priorities."

But, against her better judgement, Willa decided to drop it for now. If John B. said it was an issue for another day, then she could worry about it on another day, too. "Oh, yeah?" She countered. "You weren't just picking me up to have a party on the water?"

"You wish."

"Well, then, what's on the agenda today? Are we hijacking an airplane? Taking over the sheriff's department? Starting a coup?"

"I'd be down to start a coup," JJ interrupted. Willa's eyes quickly snapped over her shoulder, looking to JJ who had yet to move from his relaxed position at the bow. She had not realized he had been eavesdropping.

John B. looked carefully between the blonde pogue son and the brunette kook daughter. "We need access to a computer so we can track down the location of the coordinates on my dad's map," He explained as he finally turned his attention solely back to Willa. "But all the internet is down on the south side of the island because of the hurricane."

"Which means?"

"Which means we need to find a computer that's working on the north side. And there's no doubt in my mind that one will be working because you kooks can't go more than a day without internet."

"And that's it for today?" Willa questioned. They just needed to be able to go online?

"That's it for today," John B. confirmed with a nod of his head.

Willa's brows furrowed in contemplation, feeling the flaming, rebellious wheels begin to turn dangerously inside of her own head. Stop it, Willa. "Well . . ." She began with bated breath. "Once you're online, how long will it take to find the location of the coordinates?"

John B. remained contemplative beside her, unnoticing of the quiet battle that was ensuing inside her tired head. It had to be the exhaustion that had taken control of her impulses. Not that any of the pogues would know that. "Not more than a few minutes," He answered. "Why?"

She was not really about to do this, was she?

"Because I know a place," Willa announced confidently.

Well, apparently, she was. Shit.

"Yeah?" John B. questioned uncertainly. By now, all four heads were turned in Willa's direction, awaiting her response with cautious anticipation. Hell, anything had to be better than taking a drive up to the Island Club—the practical home of the kooks. Or so the pogues would think.

But they had no idea what Willa Deveraux was truly capable of. "Yeah . . ." She confirmed stiffly, frozen in place on the edge of the boat. She was smirking defiantly, even though what she was doing would surely only cause her more trouble in the end. "But none of you are going to like it."

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THE DEVERAUX FAMILY MANSION loomed overhead as Willa's jeweled fingers twisted delicately along the steering wheel of her muddy Jeep Wrangler, lulling the sleek and boxy vehicle to a stop at the end of her familiar cobblestone drive. Keeping her keys idle in the ignition, Willa's eyes quickly flickered along the nearby double-story garage that sat silently on the edge of their beachside property. To her relief, both of her parents' vehicles were gone, and while Hudson's cherry-colored convertible was parked in sight, she knew that her older brother would be out with his boyfriend for the rest of the evening.

So far, everything was going to plan.

Finally, Willa killed the engine, and she heard a large huff of annoyance sound out from behind her, the hot exclaim of breath pushing at her curls through the leather seat. "Why did the three biggest people get shoved into the backseat?" John B. snapped irritably. He was currently crammed against the window, JJ showing no mercy from where he sat in the middle, spreading his legs wide to make his own room in the narrow space between the front and back seats.

From beside Willa, Kiara glanced cheekily over her shoulder to the three boys shoved shoulder-to-shoulder. "Because I called shotgun," She clipped back with a smirk.

"Rules are rules, boys," Willa snickered, pulling the lanyard of her keys up so that it now dangled around her neck. "I mean, one of you could always try the trunk for next time."

"Oh, I'm thinking about it," JJ grumbled bitterly as he crossed his bare arms tightly over his chest, his biceps seemingly pushing Pope and John B. even further into the opposing sides of the vehicle.

"Tell me again, why we couldn't just take the van?" Pope questioned, frowning. He was currently fanning himself with his snapback.

"Are you kidding? This is the Figure Eight!" Willa exclaimed, propping her door open. "And no offense, John B.," She peered back at him innocently over the headrest of her seat, her sage gaze flickering delicately with his own disgruntled eyes. "but your van looks like literal shit. Smells a bit like it, too. Now, come on. Let's make this quick, please."

Without another word, Willa completely climbed from the vehicle and started for the large mansion, not bothering to turn to see if the others would follow her because she knew that they would, that they had no choice if they wanted their Royal Merchant. Behind her the pogues reluctantly followed and their footsteps were hesitant, even as they moved forward, as if they were afraid that they would somehow stain the cool, colored stone beneath their feet. Willa rolled her eyes as she stepped up onto the porch of her own home, wishing that the pogues around her did not have to feel as uncomfortable as they did. These vicious and cruel social circles and expectations were what was ultimately going to sink this island to the bottom of a damned, deadened ocean.

"Wait one sec," Willa told the four teenagers gathering around her on the threshold. She quickly unlocked the door and stepped carefully inside, looking around to the tidied and empty foyer. She could see no one immediately upon entry nor hear them—but the Deveraux mansion was too big for its own good. If one did not know their way around, they might find themselves lost within it. "Anyone home?" She called loudly, praying that she did not receive a response. The house's silence beckoned back towards her, the emptiness of the home seeming definite. "Okay, come on in," She told the pogues, leaving the door open for them to follow.

Willa clasped her hands together on her middle and was silent, allowing the four teenagers to automatically take a look around her clean and open home. It was custom with everyone that came to visit the Deveraux mansion; people could not help but stop and stare. It was only granted that pogues would do the same—they had likely never been inside a house this nice in their whole, entire life. The crude thought made Willa's stomach twist uncomfortably. She hated being associated with such high glamour and endless riches when those around her were entirely unfamiliar with it.

"Nice place," John B. commented. Willa did not meet his gaze, but she nodded her head to his words, nonetheless. She could not even tell him 'thanks' in her own embarrassment of her surroundings. How could he actually possibly mean that?

Across the foyer, Pope swallowed tightly as he looked up towards a high-hanging crystal chandelier. "Why do I have a feeling we're not supposed to be here?" He wondered. His voice echoed on the lightly shaded walls.

"Because we're not," Kiara retorted, not bothering to stare around the house as obviously as the other three boys. This was not the first time she had been in this house, after all, and it had not changed all the much in the past four years. "At least you three aren't," She added as an afterthought. "Mrs. Deveraux didn't seem to mind too much that I was over here the other day."

JJ frowned and set one of the smooth, pristine vases that he had nosily picked up to examine—a rich designer, blue-swirled glass piece—back to its rightful place on a nearby spacious, walnut side-table. "What the hell were you doing in this part of the Figure Eight?" He demanded.

"I used to live here, JJ," She reminded him.

"Until the rich assholes of this neighborhood kicked your parents out to a lower kook suburb," Pope pointed out, his brows furrowed in irritation. A nanosecond later, they relaxed as he looked back to their hostess. "No offense, Willa."

"None taken." Willa shrugged innocently. "My neighbors are assholes."

JJ rolled his clear yet narrowed eyes, his attention still locked on Kiara. "That still doesn't answer my question."

"Let it go, JJ."

"Are you seeing someone from the Figure Eight, Kie?"

"What? No, I'm not seeing anyone!" Kiara snapped coldly, her round cheeks flaming. "And even if I was, I hardly think that's your damn business." Before JJ could spit out another retort, the girl quickly turned to Willa, her auburn eyes glowing with secrets that were not so successfully hidden. Willa was unsurprised that Kiara had not told the boys about the entirety of her visit to the Deveraux household after the chaos of the Boneyard beach. If the roles had been reversed, she might not have said anything to them, either. "Willa, where's your computer?" She questioned, desperate for a distraction.

Willa briskly motioned for the others to follow her further into the empty home. "It's not mine, actually," She admitted as they walked down one of many narrow, cream-colored hallways. Their feet slapped on the hard tiles of the floor as they walked, echoing around them. "We've only got one computer up and running at the moment—and it's my dad's. He needs it to keep up-to-date with his patients' cases."

"Wait, we're using the chief surgeon's computer for this?" John B. questioned from behind her.

"Yeah," Willa answered bluntly. "It's not that big of a deal."

"It's probably worth more than the entire Chateau."

"Don't be so dramatic."

Willa stopped about halfway down the corridor and found herself face-to-face with a very familiar set of double oak doors. Without any hesitation at all she pushed them outwards and found herself looking into her father's exceptionally large study area. One massive and sleek mahogany desk loomed at the opposite end of the room and a thickly cushioned black chair was pushed properly against its furthest end. To her right, placed carefully beneath a large set of windows, sat two brown leather loveseats, divided only by a square tabletop evenly spaced in between them. Numerous medical and health magazines littered the smooth surface, but they were stacked purposely with intent organization, meaning that if they were touched by an outsider it would quickly be noticed by a familiar presence. Across from the couches, the other wall of the study room was entirely decided to bookshelves that reached up to the ceiling, the contents of the books spanning drastically across different subjects.

Though dark and intimidating upon first glance, Willa's father's office was very warm—and not in an uncomfortable, summery way, but in a way that promised of comfort and focus. Willa had often spent a lot of time in here when she was younger, her little body sprawled on the luscious, pine-colored rugs, staring up towards the lamp-like chandelier that chimed above her, enticed by dreams that her parents could never quite see. There was so much opportunity to find within this space. All these years later, Willa still frequently found herself hoping to have a room like this for her own uses one day.

John B. let out a low whistle as the five teenagers stepped into the study. "A lot of books here," He noted, immediately stepping nearer to the closest bookshelf—one of seven, to be exact. His gritty fingers ran along the numerous, crackling spines, unable to help himself from such an innocent and genuine action.

Willa smiled softly. "Yeah, when my dad isn't researching the human body, he's researching the whole damn world," She explained. "But if you think this is a lot of books, you should see my sister's room. They're both big history nerds."

"I like history," John B. confessed, glancing at her from over his shoulder.

"I know," Willa immediately responded. When John B.'s hickory stare flickered with gentle alertness, her cheeks began to burn as she processed the words that had just come from her mouth. "Sorry. I didn't mean for that to sound creepy. I just . . . I remember how passionate you were about certain topics that came up in U.S. History last year."

At her rushed explanation John B. only chuckled. "I just figured you could tell because I have us all searching for a historic shipwreck." He smirked, taking in her warm cheeks. "But that works, too."

With her face still in flames, Willa hastily looked away, very aware that John B. was still watching her as she hurriedly went over to her father's desk and took a seat, feeling the wheels of the chair spin forward. As her fingers ghosted over the white keyboard, she glanced across the familiar screen of the iMac desktop. A professional wallpaper of her mother and father in a warm embrace stared back at her, not a single child of theirs in sight. Willa was not sure whether she found the image insulting or romantic. To get rid of the sight, Willa pressed down on the Enter key, but the bright computer screen was quickly replaced with a 'password required' text box.

"Shit," Willa murmured, glowering deeply at the desktop. Why would Alden Deveraux put a password on this computer? What if something ever happened to her father and no one from his field of medicine was able to access his patients' files in the future?

Pope walked up beside her, his arm falling atop the back of her chair as he leaned forward. "You don't know what the password is?" He questioned.

Willa's glare of frustration only deepened as she looked up to the taller boy. "Do you know the password to your father's computer, Pope?" She snipped.

"No."

"Exactly," She huffed. "Now, hang on, give me a minute . . . I think I know what it is. He's pretty much had the same password for everything since I was five."

"Hacking the system," JJ cooed childishly, leaning forward on the front of the desk, his biceps flexing to support his lean weight. So many watchful eyes were staring straight into Willa's soul at that very moment, waiting to see if she could overcome this hurdle. Did they have no faith in her in her own home?

After a long moment, Willa finally typed a familiar phrase into the keyboard. For several seconds, the screen merely spun as it processed the attempted log-in. And then, to her surprise, it accepted, and the screen opened up to reveal free access to the entire device. Meanwhile, Pope, who had actually watched Willa enter the password from over her shoulder, tilted his head to the side in curiosity. "What kind of password is that?" He could not help but ask.

"It's a wrestling weight class."

JJ stood up straight again and looked uncertainly at a nearby picture of her father in his professional attire, standing alongside his many residents, that was mounted on the wall. "Your dad was a state champ?" He wondered idly. He, too, was beginning to look extremely uncomfortable in the setting of the Deveraux home the longer he looked it.

"No," Willa answered genuinely, hoping to distract him with her response. "but my uncle was."

"Really?" Pope prodded, standing back upright. Willa then quickly rose from the desk and allowed him to take her seat, knowing he was the best option to quickly find the location of the coordinates on John B.'s father's map. "How come the Deveraux name isn't plastered all over the wrestling trophy case in the high school, then?"

"Because he wasn't a Deveraux," Willa replied, matter-of-fact, now watching over his shoulder, ensuring that none of her father's files were tampered with. "They were half-brothers. Different fathers so different last names."

"Your uncle still local?" John B. asked curiously. He was standing by the pair of couches now, staring dazedly out the freshly washed windows.

"No," She admitted. "He's kind of out of the picture now."

"Dead?" JJ bluntly guessed.

Willa wrinkled her nose distastefully. "No. Just gone." Promptly she shook her head, trying to rid her thoughts of her father's side of the family; the side that was so solemnly spoken about. She hardly knew anything about her uncle, and it seemed that it was meant to be that way for a reason. A reason unknown to her, unfortunately. "Okay, that's enough family baggage for one day. John B., the coordinates, please?"

John B. hastily dug the folded map out of his backpack and opened the paper outwards, passing it over to the teenagers gathered at the desk. As Pope hastily typed the numbers into Google Earth, the Routledge boy came to stand on the other side of the desk chair, peering over his friend's shoulder like Willa was. "Boom, continental shelf right there," John B. exclaimed once the location of the coordinates appeared on the screen.

"Well, if it's off the deep end, it's not going to be much of a treasure hunt, is it?" Pope countered.

"Who doesn't like a little challenge?" Willa snickered.

"Here, let me see if I can get a closer look . . ." Pope trailed off, clicking another button. A moment later, the screen zoomed in further, shifting across the digitalized land. "Holy shit, you're in luck, John B.," He gasped. "It's on the high side, only nine-hundred feet."

JJ glanced away from one of Willa's father's shelves decorated with numerous golden awards and expensive nick-knacks. "That's not too deep," He pointed out.

Kiara frowned. "Is that doable or something?"

"Yeah." JJ nodded confidently. "Totally doable."

"For what?" Willa questioned cautiously. JJ did not immediately answer, but the devious smirk on his face was response enough and her eyes widened in protest. "You're not suggesting that we go out there, are you?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting, sunshine."

Pope scoffed. "And will we be taking your personal submarine, JJ?" He inquired sarcastically.

"I think you're asking the wrong person here, Pope," JJ retorted, all the while sending a sly glance in Willa's direction. "If anyone here's got a submarine, I think we all know who it would be."

Willa rose a single rude finger in JJ's face, the gaudy and thick jewel on her knuckle nearly brushing his slightly crooked nose. "Sorry, the family sub is in the shop until further notice," She sneered.

"What a shame. Well, in that case . . ." JJ drawled sarcastically, rolling from Willa's jab like it were nothing at all and quickly turning back to John B., Pope, and Kiara. "The salvage yard," He announced. "They've got a drone that can drop a thousand feet. It has a three-sixty camera and everything. It's for, like, deep dives and stuff. It's exactly what we need."

"Can your dad get his grimly little hands on that?" John B. wondered.

JJ shook his head immediately, his blonde brows furrowed. "My dad's grimy little hands got his ass fired. I guess the salvage captain frowns on showing up shitfaced, turns out," He casually explained. "But the drone's there. It's in the impound yard out back."

"You know exactly where it is?" John B. pressed.

"I know exactly where it is," JJ confirmed with brazen confidence.

From the opposite end of the desk, Kiara, who had been silent for several minutes amongst the conversing teenagers, looked about the study room carefully, her auburn eyes skimming over Willa as she did so. Willa could see in her hesitant stare that she was wondering if this entire scenario was worth the cost of potential capture. Finally, Kiara's attention flickered away from Willa and settled back on John B. "How much did you say was on the Royal Merchant again?" She asked timidly.

"Four hundred million."

As the weight of a fortune began to weigh more heavily upon them, Pope soon seemed to be much on the same page as Kiara. "This can't possibly end well, guys," He murmured.

"Four hundred million, Pope!" JJ moaned. "Come on!"

"We'll be breaking-and-entering," Willa reminded, chewing on the inside of her already bitten cheek.

JJ motioned around the expensively organized room, towards the very setting that the pogue teenagers most definitely were not supposed to be in. "Isn't that what we're doing right now?" He countered.

"This is my home, JJ."

"Feels more like a fortress to me."

Willa gritted her teeth painfully and rolled her eyes, feeling her hands clench into fists at her sides as she looked away from the Maybank boy and back down to her father's computer. The Google Earth console still stared blankly back at her, the coordinates to buried treasure holding her heavy and tired gaze. She suddenly blinked uncertainly as a wave of exhaustion rushed over her tensed shoulders. When was the last time she had slept? Exhaling a weary breath, her fists unclenched, and she raked a jeweled hand through her knotted locks. Four pairs of eyes looked back at her, no one entirely sure of what to say next. How could they turn their backs on the Royal Merchant now? What was a breaking-and-entering in a salvage yard when compared to a deadly shootout in the middle of a marsh or a vicious chase through the middle of a downtown street?

It was nothing at all. Willa Deveraux begrudgingly knew this, no matter how much any of them might have wanted to deny it. Lifting her head away from the computer screen, she glanced towards the window, towards the unknown that called out to her. "Okay. We're losing daylight," She finally said. "We should get a move on before—"

And then the double doors to her father's office opened.

Any breath that Willa had left in her deflated lungs was abruptly stolen her exhausted body as she watched with widened and horror-struck eyes as her youngest sister, little Rayne Deveraux, came barreling into the study area, skipping and giggly madly as she did so. She was a chaotic and playful storm of yellows and pinks, her hair pulled tightly into innocent pigtails as she twirled into the room, her little skirt spinning with her as she moved. With an innocent light flaring within her warm irises, Rayne pushed deeper into the pine-colored room and, looking carefree amongst the several tall teenagers that loomed before her, chuckled and sprinted towards the closest unsuspecting body who happened to be none other than JJ Maybank.

"Tag!" Rayne yelped with a light giggle, slapping her tiny, chubby palm against his exposed calf. "You're it!"

No one seemed to be able to move as Rayne let out another squeal of laughter; even Willa who was blatantly staring down at her own little sister was looking at the small child as if she were a stranger, as if she were a ghost. Willa swallowed timidly as she looked back to the partially open doors of the office, not entirely exposing the group of secretive teenagers to the world beyond the study . . . but doing little to protect them now, either.

"What the hell is this?" JJ demanded, daring to break the silence. His icy gaze was still locked on Rayne, pointing a single finger down in her brightened face. She beamed back at him.

"I tagged you!" She exclaimed, laughing.

"Uh . . . kook bait?!" JJ tried again. He could not move as he looked desperately around to those around them. It was as if Rayne were a bomb rather than a toddler, clinging to his leg.

When her name was harshly called by the Maybank boy again, Willa Deveraux snapped from her shocked trance and finally moved, stepping carefully over to Rayne who had now gone to stand near the leather loveseats. She looked down hesitantly at the little brunette girl, her head barely reaching Willa's thighs, so she bent down to reach her sister's eyes. "Rayne . . ." She addressed cautiously, unsure of how to even approach this situation. Willa's gaze was still wide with disbelief, her heart pounding dangerously loud in her sweaty chest. "Rayne, is Ace home?" She forced herself to ask. "Or Cruz?"

Please, please, please, let one of her brothers or her sister be home.

Rayne shook her head giddily. "No."

Shit. "Is Hudsy home?" Willa tried again.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Kiara murmured tightly from somewhere over Willa's shoulder.

Oh, Jesus Christ, indeed, Willa thought painfully. With gentle hands, she reached up to hold Rayne's narrow shoulders, squeezing her little sister in a playful expression even though she felt as if her brain were only seconds from imploding. Willa grinned at Rayne, smiling so widely and joyfully at her youthful face but it certainly did not reach her green eyes. Thankfully, Rayne was too young to understand that false expression, too young to understand that this most definitely was not going to end well for anyone older than the age of four. "Then who is home right now?" Willa dared to ask her baby sister, her voice light with mock carefreeness.

Rayne hesitated momentarily, but in her silence Willa's question was suddenly answered by a deep, newfound voice that echoed from the hallway. "Raynie! Where'd you go?"

JJ's jaw dipped wider and he stepped back, further from the office entryway. "Who the hell is that?" He demanded.

Willa's blood ran cold as the caller's tone registered in her own ringing ears. "My dad."

"You've got to be fucking kidding," John B. Routledge gaped. Yep. They would have most definitely been better off stealing internet from the Island Club.

In an instant, Pope Heyward automatically flew away from the desk and lifted his hands high into the air as if his DNA were not already all over the evidence. "Oh, shit!" He yelped. Beside him, Kiara glowered deeply and rounded the desk so that she was standing in front of it, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"Can you all stop swearing, please?!" The Carrera daughter exclaimed in a harsh hiss. "There is literally a toddler in the room!"

"What do we do?" John B. questioned, panicked. He quickly stuffed his father's map with the coordinates to the Royal Merchant into his backpack once more and slung it over his shoulder, now moving around one of the couches to be closer to Willa. "The windows?" He suggested.

"No time," Willa hastily brushed off. The window would be locked, anyways. All the windows on the first floor of their beachfront mansion were like that. "You boys need to hide, right now!" She ushered. She could hear her father's voice growing closer, his footsteps louder against the tiled floor beyond the door. "Quick!" Without needing to be told twice, Willa and Kiara watched with widened and frantic eyes as the three boys in their company scrambled for safety within the large study area. John B. and Pope rapidly crawled behind the leather loveseats, using the close proximity of the furniture against the dark wall to their advantage. Elsewhere, at the back of the room, JJ dove into cover behind the large mahogany desk with a gentle thud.

Rayne tilted her head to the side. "What are they doing?" She asked innocently, looking up to her eldest sister.

Willa promptly turned to Rayne and picked her up, balancing her against her slim hip. "They're playing hide-and-seek, silly!" She insisted excitedly, praying that she sounded convincing enough. She could hardly breathe, the anxiety of the situation clawing deeper into her torso, soaking into her veins. "You don't want to give them away, do you?"

Rayne's eyes brightened drastically. "I want to play!" She shouted.

"We'll play with the boys later, I promise," Willa panted. "Right now, we're going to play a different game."

"Twister?" Rayne guessed animatedly.

Willa's expression faltered slightly. "No, we're going to play the quiet game." From over her shoulder, she was almost convinced that she could hear JJ's snort from behind the desk. She inwardly rolled her eyes, hearing his spitfire tone in her head without even a single word being said aloud. What could she say? The quiet game came in handy for all ages—from four-year-old explorers within study rooms to sixteen-year-old delinquents debating scaling a lighthouse. "You, me, and Kiara, okay?" Willa explained to Rayne. She then glanced over her tiny sister's head to meet Kiara's auburn stare, pleading for the pogue-turned-kook-turned-pogue-again daughter to play along.

Rayne pouted distastefully. "I don't want to play the quiet game," She grumbled.

Without hesitation, Kiara stepped closer to the two sisters, feigning her own excitement. "Sure, you do, Rayne!" She insisted lightly. "It'll be so much fun!"

"And if you win, you get ten cookies," Willa promised, hiking her sister further on her hip.

"Ten?!" Rayne gasped, her tiny lips forming a perfect O shape.

"Doesn't that sound fun?"

"Yeah!"

Willa rose her hand in a soft high-five and Rayne quickly slapped her palm in return, squealing excitedly. Then, as if realizing the sound that she just made, she quickly shut her mouth once more and fell silent, clinging tightly to her sister. Willa squeezed her just as tightly and then, upon hearing the office door being pushed open, she hurriedly passed her sister to Kiara. Take her, she practically ordered with her searing sage eyes. Keep her away from the couches. Kiara nodded in quiet understanding and, thankfully, Rayne did not protest being handed off to a stranger. After all, Rayne did not know Kiara Carrera. Unlike the rest of her siblings, she had not been born by the time Willa and Kiara's friendship had been severed by the distance of the island.

By the time her father finally made his appearance, Willa Deveraux was seated back at the desk and Kiara was standing near the bookshelves, pretending to look interested in its contents. Willa, while trying to calm her frantic breathing, had pulled herself and the plush chair as close to the narrow gap for leg space as she could, her body flush against the warm wood, trying her best to ignore the fact that she could feel JJ's shaky breath against her bare shins. His long and lanky body was hidden in the tiny crevice, the only safe spot behind the desk that her father certainly would not be able to see. She also tried her best to ignore the fact that all he could see of her was all that was waist down.

"There you are, Rayne—Willa? What are you doing in here?"

Alden Deveraux was a very intimidating man upon first glance, so she was unsurprised when Kiara did not automatically turn at his voice, choosing to keep her own head down. Tall, broad, and stern-faced was how Alden usually appeared to the many people of the Outer Banks' islands, even if his expression was an unintentional façade, his careful features twisted so specifically, his strong body wound so tightly, after years of focus in the operating room. He was a force to be reckoned with. Well, a force to most people. Willa Deveraux, on the other hand, in her sixteen years of life, was now entirely unbothered by her father and his heavy presence. She knew who her father truthfully was, that he was not a naturally angry man; he was merely a curious one. It was in Alden's nature to ask questions—especially when his child was found sitting at his desk, peering at his computer, one that was meant for his private clients.

"Hey, dad," Willa greeted as casually as she could muster. She held her breath as her father stepped further into the room, now standing parallel with the leather couches to his right. She prayed to all the gods above her that he did not ever notice the two bodies hidden behind them. "I just needed to borrow your computer for something that Kiara and I were working on."

Alden frowned in confusion. "Kiara?" He questioned. And then, to answer his own question, he abruptly turned towards the bookshelves, as if only now noticing her presence as she, too, turned to face him. Immediately his expression lightened in warm hospitality, so very much unlike his wife. "Oh, Kiara! Hi," He said, smiling politely. "How are you doing?"

Kiara smiled back just as softly. "I'm doing good, thanks," She responded quietly. Kiara Carrera, shy? Willa could not believe it.

Suddenly, in Kiara's arms, Rayne's eyes squinted suspiciously, looking to Willa—oh, shit. The quiet game. Both older girls had already lost in a matter of seconds. Rayne was the winner, and the little devil knew it.

Don't do it, Rayne! Willa Deveraux desperately pleaded.

To her relief, several seconds passed in silence and the four-year-old held her tongue. Maybe she had forgotten about the game, too. Maybe.

"I didn't realize you were home," Willa dully noted, drawing her father's attention back to her. "Where's your truck?"

"I pulled it around back," Alden answered with a shrug. "The backyard is a mess. Branches everywhere. I was thinking that if we gathered enough up, we could make a fire. Roast some marshmallows. You're more than welcomed to stay, Kiara."

Willa rolled her eyes, knowing her mother would never allow a rampant bonfire in her polished backyard. But it was the thought from her father that counted. A thought that Willa wanted to accept, but she also knew that she would likely not be home tonight, especially if she was supposedly now breaking into a salvage yard. "Dad, we're busy," Willa dismissed.

"Oh? What are you working on, anyways?"

Alden automatically took a step closer to the desk and Willa immediately tensed, instinctively kicking her legs out in surprise and into JJ's unsuspecting side. Suddenly, before she could pull away and push her chair back in an attempt to give the Maybank hideaway more room, she felt his strong, calloused hand on her left calf, squeezing her painfully in warning. Try that again, he practically taunted her. And automatically she kicked her feet out again, this time entirely purposeful in her blow, but to her surprise JJ quickly let go of her once more, backing off. Willa smiled smugly to herself, not big enough for her father to notice, but grand enough for her to no longer be regretful of her actions against the boy at her feet. She did not even want to see the expression brewing on his storming, stoic face but, boy, could she surely imagine it.

"We're working on a script for our debate," Willa answered nonchalantly, rolling off of the lie she had previously told her mother. Now, if the topic came up in the future and both of her parents were in the room, she had an alibi from both sides.

"Why?" Alden questioned.

At that, Willa paused. "Huh?"

"It's summer break."

Willa could almost laugh from where she now sat frozen in her father's seat. She had definitely not seen that coming, had not even given the months around her the time of day in her lying. Shit. Of course, Alden had to find the tiniest flaw when her own mother was entirely unsuspecting of her intentions. Hell, Maren probably had not even rightfully heard her lie as she sipped mindlessly on her wine and worked on perfecting her Midsummer plans.

But thankfully, just like she had with deputy Shoupe only days prior on the marsh, Kiara was coming to Willa's rescue with a gentle, playful laugh once more. "The debate club doesn't believe in summer breaks," She insisted.

"Well, then it's certainly changed since I was your age. We barely even had a debate club," Alden chuckled airily and Willa immediately relaxed as he turned to Kiara again and pulled little Rayne from her friend's arms. "Alright, come on, Raynie," He sighed. "It's nap time."

"No!" Rayne cried hotly, finally breaking her several-minute-long vow of silence. She rose her fists high as Alden readjusted his hold on her flailing body. "Oh, man!" She whined, tilting her head back dramatically against her father's chest. "I lose."

Alden frowned, obviously having no idea what his youngest daughter was talking about—but after several hours of labor in the hot July sun, he did not necessarily seem to care too much. Walking back towards the office's double doors, he turned back to his eldest daughter only once he reached the threshold, pointing what was likely supposed to be a condescending finger back in her direction. Willa could only smile at her father, watching him try to play the role of her mother and failing so horrendously that it was funny. "Make sure you close that down properly before you leave," He instructed firmly. Then his expression shifted as he looked to his left, giving one last polite smile. "It was nice to see you, Kiara."

"You, too, Mr. Deveraux."

And with a final farewell, Alden and Rayne Deveraux finally slipped away from the study and the former closed the heavy, oak door gently behind him, leaving the teenagers alone. For several long moments, Willa merely watched the door, frozen in place, unable to believe that her father and youngest sister were actually gone and that she and the pogues had managed to scrape by without him noticing anything strangely amok in his own private space.

"God, I thought that guy would never leave!" JJ suddenly groaned from beneath the desk. He nudged against Willa's legs once more and she quickly pushed herself away, allowing the blonde boy to crawl back into the light of the warm office. From near the windows, Pope and John B. poked their heads back up from behind the two leather couches hesitantly.

Kiara sighed in relief. She then swiftly went to the double doors and leaned back against them, her palms placed flat against the wood at either of her sides. "That was a close-call," She confessed.

Willa Deveraux nodded breathlessly, her sage gaze still unmoving from the empty space in front of her. JJ was still knelt beside her battered and scraped knees, catching his own breath, and John B. and Pope were struggling back to their feet, sharing wary glances. Willa suddenly exhaled loudly, the adrenaline spiking chaotically in her system. Her heart was still pounding so loudly in her chest, bashing against her ribcage, and her stomach was twisting tightly with knots that were only just beginning to unwind themselves. "Yeah," She finally sputtered out in agreement, maddened with an unfamiliar and unwelcomed thrill.

Too close.

~~~~~~~~~~

LORD HAVE MERCY I THOUGHT I WOULD NEVER FINISH THIS CHAPTER.  i am seriously so sorry for such a long wait, but this chapter was literally the death of me.  writer's block was killing me and this chapter gahhhhh GOOD RIDDANCE TO IT.

anyways, i'm not really sure what to say about this chapter, considering it took me about four months to finish, but i hope you enjoyed it--even though it was a chaotic mess.  not much really happened aside from more bonding within the pogues, but we finally got to meet the last members of the deveraux family! alden and rayne! it was a very brief introduction, but there will be more of them in the future... so, any initial first thoughts on their characters?!

any lingering thoughts regarding willa? i know it's been a long while, but how are we feeling about her?

secondly, i just want to apologize for the large lacking of chapters.  these past couple of months have been really hard on me, balancing actual work with university work, but i am slowly getting there, slowly everything is falling into place and i finally feel in a good enough space to begin working on this story again.  i've missed my willa girl so much.  literally not a day goes by that i don't think of her and her journey ahead.  it's a big one.

thank you for trusting this journey. thank you for being a fan. i love you. i appreciate you. 

stay safe and well.

--B.