CHAPTER FIVE
❛ 𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙵𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 ❜

        "THANKS FOR LETTING ME stay at your place."

        The engine is still rumbling beneath the hood of Kiara's car. The sun is peeking over the horizon, rising steadily as early morning graces the Outer Banks.

        "Of course," Kiara smiles, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "I'm sorry things got out of hand last night."

        Ideally, Cassidy wouldn't have had to stay at Kiara's house at all. But unforeseen circumstances tend to create unforeseen consequences. And, needless to say that after dragging John B out of the sea and hearing JJ Maybank shoot a gun, things devolved rather quickly.

        Thankfully, Kiara didn't seem to mind letting her crash at hers. Save for the fact they had to sneak around her parents, it almost reminded Cassidy of what her old home life was like. No water leaks. No shaky walls. No roof to collapse over your head. Maybe it was a good thing they left so early.

        "It's not your fault," Cassidy sighs, and it's not polite-talk. Strangely enough, she finds herself meaning it. Cassidy unbuckles her seatbelt and opens the door of the car. "I guess it'll make for a fun story to tell one day."

        "Yeah. Hey, uh—" Kiara's hand latches around her wrist just as Cassidy's getting off. She hesitates. "I know you didn't bring it up, so I didn't want to either but... whatever's going on with those assholes you used to hang out with— you can tell me." She offers a small, sheepish smile. Even if it's just to vent."

        Cassidy considers it for a second. If she thinks about it —and she has thought about it— Kiara might just be the one person closest to ever understanding her situation. Pogues and Kooks. Kiara Carrera has one foot in both worlds— which is about as close as having neither.

        Cassidy clicks her tongue. "I'm good. But thanks," she says in earnest.

        Kiara nods, tilting her head. "You sure you don't want me to drop you off at Heyward's?"

        "It's cool." Cassidy drums her fingers against her thigh. She's already done enough as is— and she doesn't want to abuse it. Not when Kiara's the only person on this island with whom she's on somewhat friendly terms. Cassidy throws her thumb over her shoulder. "I gotta go check on my siblings before I go."

        She shrugs as Cassidy closes the door. "If you say so." The two girls wave goodbye, and Cassidy can faintly hear the lyrics to Natural Mystic by Bob Marley drifting further into the road.

        Cassidy walks up to the house in slow, grueling steps. A part of her doesn't want to open the door just yet. Because staying outside means a momentary break from reality. From this nightmare.

        Her hand rests on the doorknob for a moment too long. She closes her eyes, inhales deeply, and pushes it open. It creaks loudly, announcing her arrival.

        Cassidy didn't expect many things when opening the door. Even then, complete and utter silence wasn't one of them. It's odd— and she doesn't particularly like it.

        "Ezra? Isa?" she calls. When there's no response, a growing worry starts to gnaw at her stomach. She was only gone for a few hours. Truly— less than a day. Nothing too bad could've happened. But then her mind starts painting pictures of kidnapped eleven year olds, and it's not a second before she starts spiraling. "Hello? Isadora?"

        "In the kitchen," comes her little sister's voice. A squeak, a meek tone.

        Relief tumbles down her back like pebbles on a hill. "Sorry for getting here this late." She runs a hand through her face, turning around to the kitchen. "I would've called, but—"

        "I was wonderin' when you'd show up." Her whole body freezes at the deeper, all-too familiar voice. Brown meet brown, and Cassidy's heart stammers in her chest. With her little sister sitting behind him with her hands in her lap and her face turned down, his presence and police badge are not hard to miss. "Afternoon, Cassidy."

        She forces a strained smile. "Detective Turner. I wasn't aware I should've been expecting you." Cassidy meets Isadora's eyes, jaw ticking. "Há quanto tempo ele está aqui?"

        "Não muito," Isadora answers quickly. "Ele tentou—"

        Detective Turner shifts his body, blocking Cassidy's view of Isadora. "That's enough of that," he chuckles, as if understanding a close-kept joke. It only makes jaw clench tighter. He draws closer. "I'm not on official business. Just lookin' out for you."

        She wants to laugh. That's a first. "Well, as you can see, I'm kind of in a rush." She folds her arms over her chest, if only to keep herself from fidgeting. She tries to remember of cops are allowed to do that— if he's breaking any laws by being here. But Cassidy's experience with law enforcement is scarce, with most of it centering only around the time of her father's arrest. She wills herself to unfold her arms, vaguely recalling a line from a show about looking defensive. "Can I help you?"

        "I was hoping you could," Turner says, leaning against the table behind him. "Heard you were at a party yesterday."

        Don't answer that. This part, at least, is rehearsed. Words drilled into her head after the cops first raided their house. You never answer. Instead, she asks, "Where'd you hear that?"

        "Well, you know what they say about living on an island." Turner does that side-smile of his, and it only serves to make him look smug and like more of a jerk. "Word gets around pretty fast."

        Cassidy tilts her head. "Does it?"

        "It does." He considers her for a moment. "I also heard there was a fight with a gun involved in the mix."

        She's aiming for unimpressed. She hopes she doesn't look constipated. "Is there a question there?"

        "So it got me thinking— what the hell is a Liberato kid doing in the middle of a party running around with a gun?" Turner asks, cocking his head to the side. Cassidy doesn't miss the way his hand drops to his belt, where she can hear the clink of metal handcuffs.

        "That's a lie—" Cassidy quickly protests, "I never even touched the gun."

        Detective Turner's eyebrows shoot up, feigning surprise. "Oh? So there was a gun?"

        Shit.

        Cassidy tries to settle her jackrabbit of a heart to no avail. Don't trip. Don't mess up. Don't you fuck this up. She breathes in, breathes out. She gazes at him for a few seconds, pretending to stare as opposed to calming herself down. Pull yourself together. Since when do you let someone rattle you like this?

        Cassidy's face is the picture of indifference when she finally speaks again. "Careful, Detective. You're bordering on entrapment." She isn't even sure if she's using that term correctly.

        "Witnesses say they saw you with the Routledge kid."

        She shrugs her shoulders. "I know CPR and first aid. I believe my official certificate should be somewhere in those evidence boxes of yours." She pauses. "I'm sure I can get you a digital copy if you need one."

        Turner's brow twitches for the very first time. It's slight, barely noticeable— but Cassidy can only hope that the seed of doubt is enough to get him out. "Why would Routledge need CPR?"

        "He was drinking," Cassidy answers without missing a beat. If it's between a kid like John B and her, she won't hesitate in her decision. Better get him busted for underage drinking than her on some bogus charge from a Detective with a bone to pick with her family. "He stumbled a little too close to the shoreline, fell face first onto the water. Blacked out."

        "Did he?" Turner contemplates. "Maybe I should pay him a visit, then." Out of all his underhanded plays, this one is not the cleverest. She sees right through him. He's testing her, challenging her.

        But as long as it means getting him out of here... "You should," she responds simply, and now that he's moved from his spot, she can see Isa still sitting behind the table. Good. At least she has eyes on her now. "I was too focused on him, didn't see much of anything. Or maybe you should ask those witnesses of yours. Maybe they saw whatever it is you're looking for."

        Turner steps closer to her. Not quite in her personal space, but certainly closer than she'd prefer.

        "How's your mom?"

        It feels like a slap to the face. And, for the first time in all morning, Cassidy's lips part, but she can't find the words to respond. Not that it seems to matter— not when Turner answers for her. "That bad, huh? I couldn't help but notice I haven't seen her yet."

        Cassidy forces her eyes to stay on the Detective. She'll shoot herself before letting her vision stray to the corner where her mom's room is tucked into. Just how much of her family's situation is common knowledge? How much has he dug up? How much of it will he use to get under her skin?

        His eyes trail towards the ceiling, the walls, the sparse furniture. "How'd you pay for this place?"

        Cassidy's gaze latches onto the papers left discarded on the table. She doesn't need to read them to know what they are. The moment Turner's focus is elsewhere, she reaches for the water and electricity bill and shoves them into her back pocket. "I really should get going."

        "What's the rush?"

        Her body is taut like wire. She wants to shove him out and slam the door behind him. Cassidy's hand grips the counter to prevent herself from fidgeting again. "This is starting to feel like an interrogation."

        He shrugs nonchalantly. "We're just talking."

        "Are we?" she asks, and there's more bite to it now. Corner an animal... "Because we both know that if you are interrogating me, then I should have a lawyer present."

        "You wanna give him a call?" There's a disturbing glimmer in his eyes, something akin to excitement, but not quite. "Y'know, there's a lotta talk going around that Cardoso isn't your lawyer anymore." The corner of his lips twitch upward, and he doesn't look quite as sympathetic anymore. "It's gotta be tough. I get that. Hotshot lawyers don't really take cases out of the goodness of their hearts. Plus, word is Cardoso doesn't do pro bono work." He looks so smug, so self-satisfied. Cassidy hates, she utterly despises how powerless it makes her feel. "I don't know. Just makes me wonder whether he'd even pick up the phone."

        They both know it, but Turner waves it around like a bone. Because the real and honest truth is that Dominic Cardoso —her family's all-time trusted and beloved lawyer— hasn't so much as sent her a text as response to the dozen voicemails she's left him.

        Cassidy is in no hurry to let Turner know he's right.

        "Detective Turner, sir?"

        Isadora's voice surprises them both. At least, it surprises Cassidy— if anything, Turner seems to have merely forgotten she was there in the first place. Isa looks out the kitchen window, nose scrunched. When she turns back, there is a mischievous glint in her eyes as she she tilts her head and furrows her brow. Cassidy recognizes that expression— it's the same one she gets when she's up to no good.

        Isadora looks confused, lost, even. She pouts. "Is that your car?"

        Then, as if on cue, a car alarm starts blaring loudly. Detective Turner nearly jumps on his spot, hurrying towards the window and shoving the thin white curtain aside. From where she stands, Cassidy can see a broken window— whether there's any more damage, she can't tell.

        Isadora meets Cassidy's gaze and smiles innocently. It is only then that she realizes Ezra is conveniently missing.

        Detective Turner curses loudly, hurrying towards the door.

        "You should really keep an eye on your things," Cassidy adds before he's out of earshot. Turner's nostrils flare, and Cassidy simply gives him a sweet, honey-dipped smile. The alarm is still blaring. "These neighborhoods are really anything but safe."

        Detective Turner's eyes narrow into slits. For once, he looks like the snake she knows him to be. His jaw clicks. "I'll be paying another visit, kid. Soon."

        The threat is evident. And Cassidy has been drawing so many battle lines lately— what's one more?

        "Can't wait."

━━━━━━━━━━━━

       
         BY THE TIME CASSIDY ARRIVES AT HEYWARD'S, she's almost late. Almost. By the time Turner was gone, she'd nearly forgotten about the new job Pope had reluctantly offered her. And so, with a quick shower and a messy change of clothes, Cassidy rushed out of her house without so much as tying her shoes.

Thankfully, she vaguely recalled going to Heyward's with Luke to pick up an order a few months ago. Granted, she had waited inside his Jeep, and had never actually set foot on the place. Not that any of that even matters— she still remembered how to get there.

Cassidy's chest is heaving when she finally reaches Heyward's Seafood. She gives herself a moment to catch her breath. As she looks up at the sign with a huge fish stamped across it, she can't refrain from wrinkling her nose. It doesn't compare to the Wreck— not even on a good day. It doesn't look like its had any good days. The whole thing seems like a construction work left unfinished— like the walls are made from driftwood, and whoever designed the place was allergic to a quality paint job and decorations.

        Cassidy inhales deeply. Doesn't matter, she convinces herself. None of it matters. It doesn't matter than she would rather be caught dead than working here— than mere months ago she would've scoffed at the idea of stepping inside. She pulls down her cap and starts walking.

        She's not halfway across the door when Heyward approaches her. He's holding a broom in his left hand, with the other one clad in a glove she's seen fishermen use before.

        "Mornin' Cassidy," Heyward greets with a smile. "What can I help you with?"

        "Good morning." She tries to do the costumer service smile Kiara told her about. "I'm here for my shift? Pope said to be here at ten."

        Heyward furrows his brows. "Your shift?" he repeats, confusion clear as day. "What—"

        Pope and John B step inside not a second later. She catches Pope's gaze near-instantly; it allows her to see the exact moment his eyes grow wide. "Cassidy! You're here?" Dark eyes quickly flit over to Heyward with something akin to panic. "Dad!" Pope hurries towards them with John B in tow. "I'll— I'll handle this."

        Heyward narrows his eyes at his son. "I'm sure you will," he says, and though Cassidy hears the underlying tone there, she pretends not to.

        As Heyward heads back out, she turns to Pope. "You said to be here at ten." The boy blinks at her. "For my shift?"

        "Your shift." John B nudges him with his elbow, as if to reboot him. Pope stammers. "Your shift! Yes! I didn't forget that. You're... not late?"

        "You said to be on time," she replies. "What are we doing?"

        Pope's head jerks towards John B. "Us? We were doing nothing— absolutely nothing." Cassidy stares at him. She didn't remember Pope to be the spastic one of Kiara's friends. "Oh, you mean now. Um— well, it's Sunday so—"

        "—Monday," John B coughs.

        "Monday, so probably just restocking for today, but we might be doing a few deliveries later." Pope throws his thumb over his shoulder, as if that's meant to explain something. "Just— give me a sec." She sees him pull out his phone as he backtracks before John B moves to stand in front of her.

        "Hey," he says in what she guesses is meant to be smooth.

        She blinks at him once. Twice. "Hey," she responds dryly.

        "I didn't get a chance to thank you."

        "Don't." Cassidy has to stifle any show of discomfort. She was actually hoping John B wouldn't have been conscious enough to remember her participation in anything pertaining to the fight last night at the Boneyard.

        John B chuckles. "Good thing you were there, huh? 'Cause I'm pretty sure JJ would've had to give me mouth to mouth, and he is not what you'd call—"

        "Are your ears still waterlogged or what?" she snaps. "Just don't go around pulling stupid shit like that. Or do, I really don't care." Pope steps back in. "Just don't get me involved in whatever bullshit you're up to."

        John B's smile from before looks strained now, forced— like he wants to respond. Instead, he bites his tongue and says: "Roger that."

        "Not that we're up to anything—" Pope quickly amends. Both of them turn to him. He clears his throat. "Just clarifying."

        Cassidy glances between the two of them. "Uh-huh. Do you want me to, like, sort through those boxes?" She gestures at the ones he'd said were for restocking.

        "Yes!" Pope exclaims, a little too enthusiastic.

        Cassidy nods, and goes towards the counter, eager to leave this interaction.

        Contrary to popular belief, Cassidy does know when she's being rude. Most of the time, that is. It's not like she can't be nice. But the Pogues have that weird, off-putting habit of talking to her like they're friends. As if she hasn't only recently learned their names.

        (Really— it was only a couple weeks ago that she found out that Routledge isn't pronounced Root-leg, and that Pope's name isn't actually Pogue.)

        "What is wrong with you today?" she hears John B hiss.

        "Oh, I'm sorry for being a little on edge about being implicated in a felony!" Cassidy's brow twitches at that. She wonders whether they think they're whispering. "We get caught and my merit scholarship goes to shit!"

        Cassidy glances behind the counter, wanting nothing more than to turn a blind eye to whatever crime the two roped themselves into. But then her body freezes at the sight of the metal equipment. Something akin to righteous anger simmers in her veins.

        Seriously, all the people in the Outer Banks claim to be native to the island, but not a single one of them seems to know basic safety protocols. It's one of the things that have always managed to get under her skin. The one thing she can never look away from.

        She's speaking before she can bite her tongue. "You shouldn't be diving after a hurricane."

        The two boys jolt, necks nearly snapping with the speed at which they turn.

        "Diving?" John B chuckles. "We're not—"

        "Do you dive?" Pope asks.

        "Yeah." She used to, at least. 'Cause even if she had the spare time now, diving is a lot more expensive than she thought. Plus, as are most things these days, out of her budget. Irritation bleeds into her tone. "And scuba diving is already tricky enough as is. All sorts of dangerous stuff can turn up after a hurricane. You're idiots for going out after Agatha— especially this recently."

        John B frowns, and something about his face tells her he's only half-listening. It only serves to annoy her further. "What makes you say that?"

        "Years of certificated courses. First hand experience. Literally any basic protocol in—"

        "I meant about us going diving."

        Cassidy huffs. "I don't know, maybe the empty tanks stashed behind the counter?"

        "Empty?" Pope repeats and glares at John B, who closes his eyes with a wince. The former runs a hand through his face, jaw clicking. "When you say dangerous stuff..."

        "Ocean floor stirs up and hinders visibility. You could be diving only a few feet behind someone else and not be able to see shit." Pope, at least, seems to be listening. "Not to mention all the other things that get unearthed with storms. I mean, just off the top of my head, all sorts of debris, stray nets, wrecks..."

        The two boys share a look at that. Cassidy gets the distinct feeling of them having an unspoken conversation, something not meant for her ears. She doesn't want to get involved— but she doesn't exactly appreciate it either. Especially when it could mean having two idiots dying over something as simple as scuba diving.

        Cassidy snaps her fingers. "Hello?"

        John B's cheek twitches. "Enlightening, really— we'll keep that in mind. In fact, I'll take these and, uh... leave them somewhere else." John B reaches for three tanks, and carries them outside.

        Cassidy rolls her eyes. Pope, however, doesn't follow his friend. Instead, he strides closer to the opposite side of the counter. "Hey, uh," he starts, clicking his tongue as he meets Cassidy's gaze, "anything else that we should know for— for next time?"

        "Do you want a full beginner course or what?" She sees the flicker of annoyance and frustration in him. Cassidy bites her cheek. He got you a job, she thinks somewhat bitterly. The least you can do is be polite. "What do you wanna know?"

        "Well, I was reading about scuba, and it mentioned something about decompression sickness?"

        "The bends, yeah." Cassidy leans against the counter, slightly surprised when Pope nods in understanding. "It's when air bubbles enter the bloodstream and block blood flow to the lungs. Happens when you come up for air too soon." See? She can be nice.

        "I read it's fatal."

        "On occasion, yeah."

        "Oh." He clears his throat. "Anything else?"

        Cassidy thinks about it for a second. "Well, there's entrapment— when you get caught on coral or seaweed. Carbon monoxide poisoning. And there's always the risk of equipment failure." She nods thoughtfully. "And drowning too, I guess. But that tends to happen mostly when inexperienced divers get panic attacks"

        By the time she's done, Pope looks significantly paler. His voice sounds grave. "So, nothing much then."

        She shrugs. "It's not that bad, not really. As long as you have proper training."

        Pope's jaw locks, and Cassidy wonders whether she's unintentionally made a jab at him. She doesn't think she did. "Great," Pope exhales. "That's... great."

━━━━━━━━━━━━

        THE HOURS DRAG ON, and by the time her shift is over, Cassidy is certain she has seen every corner of Heyward's Seafood— all while somehow securing herself a spot in Heyward's bad graces.

        She doesn't know what she did to earn it. By all means, she's spent the whole morning restocking, carrying boxes around, sweeping both the inside and outside from front to back— hell, she's even stayed a little later than warranted to load the boat with delivery bags. She hasn't made any comment Heyward could've taken offense to (she doesn't think so, at least) nor has she insulted anyone other than John B, for which Pope's dad was nowhere in hearing range. Is she supposed to do all the work with a smile on her face? Is that it?

        Cassidy finishes sorting through the last bags of deliveries, stapling the name and number of each order. Just below the brim of her cap, she can see Heyward keeping an eye on her from outside the place. It feels like ants on her skin, knowing she's being kept under watch.

        "Paciência," she mutters under her breath. She needs the hours more than she cares for Heyward watching her like a hawk.

        Cassidy meets Heyward's gaze with a forced smile before she grabs the empty boxes and carries them to the storage backroom. She closes the door behind with her leg, piling them up as neatly as she can manage. She's halfway done when she hears muffled voices on the other room.

        "So, you stole empty tanks?" JJ's obnoxiously loud voice carries past the walls without trouble.

        "I didn't know they were empty when I stole them."

        Cassidy furrows her brows, slowing in her movements. She doesn't intend to eavesdrop— in her defense, John B and JJ don't seem to grasp the concept of whispering.

        "That much is obvious," she hears Pope retort. Frustration builds up in her gut. For all that talk, all that time wasted explaining to him the dangers of diving without experience— "It's not safe for one of us to dive with a tank that's barely a quarter full." At least he has some sense.

        "Then what's your great plan, Pope?" JJ asks. "The Grady White is not gonna stay there forever. Someone else is gonna find it and take the money—"

        "Probably the cops," interrupts John B.

        "—and that means losing out on life-changing shit, man. Kook-level shit."

        Cassidy hadn't even realized when she'd stopped her actions and began pressing her ear against the door. It's like her brain short-circuited— like everything else became meaningless. Grady White. Money. Life-changing.

        She strains to hear through the door, palm resting against the wood.

        "I'm just saying, maybe we're going about this a little too quickly."

        "It's the law of the jungle, Pope. You snooze, you lose."

        "Maybe we should just wait until John B can score another tank! You know— one that actually has oxygen in it?"

        "Bro, are you even listening? We wait, and the money's gonna get found by some other sucker."

    "What good is any money gonna do us if we drown trying to get it?"
       
        Cassidy freezes on the spot. Kiara's voice shouldn't be as startling a surprise— she's friends with them, after all. But whatever they're up to, it's shady.

        Cassidy's fingers twitch at her side. Kook-level shit.

        "No one's gonna drown, Kie." JJ brushes her off. "Diving isn't even that hard. You breathe in, breathe out. Easy."

        Pope sounds exasperated. "Except for the part where you can literally die, dumbass."

        "So we sit and we do nothing because none of us can do some rich-ass sport?" JJ scoffs loudly. "That's bullshit."

        Their argument grows more unintelligible from there— or maybe it's not them. Maybe it's Cassidy. The world around her feels hazy, blurry. A steady stream of static.

        Kook-level shit. It plays in her head in a loop. Kook-level shit. Cassidy can't even feel the floor against the soles of her shoes, the door against her hand. Kook-level shit.

        They could be deranged. They could be making stuff up. For all she knows, it could be some elaborate prank on her to make her look desperate.

       But that's the thing. She is desperate. Desperate to wake up from this fucking nightmare. Desperate to sleep in her own bedroom— not some dingy space with cracked floorboards and badly sealed windows. Desperate to quit this gig, to quit her job at the Wreck, to throw her apron at someone's face and storm out. Desperate to get her family back. To get her life back.

        She thought she could call it saudade and be done with it. But that longing, that yearning has claws. It has teeth. It has a rage that's been boiling in her gut for far enough.

        She wants her life back. And if no one is going to give it to her, then she's gonna take it.

        The door to the storage room slams open, and all four Pogues jolt and snap their heads in her direction. Cassidy is met by wide eyes from both the boys and Kiara alike.

        Kiara's lips part, but Cassidy cuts her off. Her voice is as sharp as a knife. "I want a cut."

        The Pogues blink at her for a second. Two. Three. JJ's the first to react. "What the fuck?"

        "How much of that did you—"

        "I think you heard wrong—"

        "This is really not—"

        "Were you eavesdropping on—"

        Each of them scrambles of a different excuse, but it's all pointless. Cassidy has her eyes on the prize. And if the medals she's garnered over the years are a testament to anything, she's not about to let anyone stand in the way of getting what she wants.

        "You need a diver, right?" Cassidy asks. Her shoulders are pulled back, her spine straight. And maybe John B had been right on his first assessment of her—maybe Cassidy Liberato tended to forget she had long been thrown off her high horse. That she wasn't above them—above any of them. They all had their feet in the dirt. And yet, the way she carried herself had scarcely changed. Arrogance birthed from money was hard to shed.

        "I can dive. Half tank, quarter-full—doesn't matter." Cassidy doesn't meet Kiara's gaze, not directly. "But I'm taking a cut of whatever's down there."

        JJ scoffs loudly. "Yeah, hard pass."

        "JJ," Pope hisses.

        "No, listen—" JJ shrugs Pope off, turning his glare towards her. "You don't know what you're talking about, Cassidy. And you're not taking shit."

        She's not sure whether she's the one to take the first step, or whether JJ does it. But Cassidy blinks, and suddenly there's no longer a counter between her and the Pogues.

        "I know enough. More than enough, actually." Cassidy stares at JJ, arms folded over her chest to keep her from fidgeting. "You found a Grady White with money in it, right? Money you can't get to without a diver." JJ's jaw ticks, and Cassidy can't help the satisfaction it gives her. "Money that will be gone by sunrise with all the deputies conducting searches after Agatha."

        JJ looks like he wants to deck her. He turns back to the others, sneer on his lips. "We don't need her." John B hums in agreement.

        "Maybe you don't," says Cassidy. "But I know about your treasure hunt."

        Kiara's face twists. Disbelief hangs from her features. "Wait, wait— so you're blackmailing us?" she sounds offended. Cassidy ignores the tinge of hurt in it.

        "I'm giving you a choice." Finally, Cassidy meets Kiara's gaze. Her brows are knit together, the corner of her lips pulled down. "I can get down there and be back on the surface in minutes. But I want my cut."

        "Oh, it's her cut now?"

        "It's either money split five ways, or you each get one fourth of nothing." Kook-level shit. She can already see it, just beyond her reach. As if she could stretch her fingertips enough to graze it. Her home. Her pool. Ezra and Isa each having their own separate rooms. Her mom leaving the house again— looking as healthy as she used to.

        Her dad, back to make things right.

        She's made up her mind. "It's your call."

        Pope looks hesitant as he glances back at the others. "We do need someone to dive," he starts, reluctantly. "And money split five ways is better than nothing."

        There's an unspoken conversation again— shared glances, quiet stares. Cassidy feels her skin prickle. JJ and John B look nothing short of unwilling. Kiara looks pissed.

        Kiara reaches for the diving mask left discarded on one of the tables. She shoves onto Cassidy's hands with more force than she'd appreciate.

        "Fine." Kiara's brown eyes are cold when she meets Cassidy's gaze. "You're diving," she says, and heads out the door.

        "Nice friend you got, Kie," she hears JJ add. Him and John B follow close behind.

        "Come on," says Pope. But as he speaks, he doesn't meet her eye.

        None of it matters. Cassidy's heart skips with anticipation.

        Everything is gonna go back to normal. The thought makes her chest feel warm, like excitement bottled beneath her skin.

        Everything is gonna be fine.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N.

i thought i wouldn't be able to update this because of exam season, but look at me!!!! procrastinating on uni work!!!!!! 😃

i literally wrote 2k words of how cassidy found out about the heist and hated it. so i deleted them and wrote it again 🧍‍♀️i still hate it just a little less.

massive massive shoutout to tiishas for making the beautiful beautiful cover of this fic :(( did i tear up a little when i saw it? LOUD CORRECT BUZZER.

any thoughts to who should play detectuve turner? i was thinking leslie odom jr. but i don't wanna make my man dirty like that.

[ Started: Mar 3rd, 2024 ]
[ Posted: June 15th, 2024 ]

( word count: 5.3k )