The Keys to freedom

Mary was a little bitch

The streets of Martha's Vineyard were alive with the vibrant energy of the town parade. Colorful floats rolled down the road, decorated with flowers and ribbons, while locals waved from the sidewalks, cheering and snapping pictures. Everyone congregated together, blending into one another as if they were equal and not separated buy wealth. The air smelled of popcorn and funnel cakes, and music from a local band drifted through the crowd as the group wandered the busy streets, laughing and soaking in the normal excitement of the day, actively trying to forget that someone tried to kill them less than 8 hours ago and could attempt it again at any moment.

Jessper had already bought a massive cotton candy, the pink fluff ball almost bigger than her head, "I love the parade," she grinned, tearing off a piece of cotton candy and handing some to Oz. "No creepy lighthouses, no SUVs trying to run us off the road—just pure sugary bliss."

Oz accepted the candy with a smirk but kept her gaze moving through the crowd, on edge. "Don't get too comfortable," she said, her voice carrying a hint of playful sarcasm. "The day's still young—plenty of time for someone to try and kill us." Even though she joked, her tone remained distracted, her mind wandering.

Grayson stood beside her, his arm brushing against hers as they watched a street performer juggling flaming batons. She couldn't help but notice from the corner of her eye that he was staring at her.

"What?" she asked, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her like she was something worth figuring out. Then, with a lazy smirk, he shrugged. "Just admiring."

She raised a brow, amusement flickering in her eyes. "Admiring?"

He nodded, his voice lower now, more sincere. "The way your eyebrows crinkle together when you're in deep thought, its cute."

A warmth crept into her cheeks despite herself, but she rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly. "Shut up."

He breathed out a laugh before gently catching her wrist before she could pull away completely.

And suddenly, everything felt different.

The crowd, the noise, the lights—all of it faded into the background, leaving only the two of them standing there in the middle of it all.

His touch was warm, steady, and for a brief moment, she didn't move. Neither of them did.

"You don't even realize,"

She swallowed, hyper-aware of how close they were, of the way his fingers lingered against her skin. "Realize what?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

His eyes searched hers, something unreadable flickering behind them. "How easy it is to admire you," he murmured. "How impossible it is not to."

Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to say something—wanted to tease him, laugh it off, anything to break the intensity crackling between them—but the way he was looking at her, like she was something rare, something worth holding onto, left her speechless.

The moment stretched between them. Finally, she forced a smirk to her lips, shaking her head. "I think you hit your head in that fight worse than we thought."

He let out a quiet chuckle, finally releasing her wrist, though his gaze never strayed from hers. "Maybe," he mused, then, almost absentmindedly, his fingers brushed over the purple bandage on her forehead—a fleeting touch, barely there, but enough to send a spark rippling through her.

And then, just like that, he turned back around and returned his focus to the street performer. She stood there, frozen in place, her heart pounding harder than it had any right to.