The Keys to freedom

Everyone wants to be my enemy

Oz stood outside Harper's house, the muffled sounds of a party drifting through the night. She knew Pyke would be there. She also knew she shouldn't be—confronting him was reckless, maybe even dangerous. But she couldn't stop herself. She wanted answers. She needed them.

How could the boy who climbed a tower every night to listen to her talk, and the boy who just snuck through her window to leave her a dozen roses, could also be the one plotting against her? The thought twisted in her mind like a knife.

So, she waited. The minutes stretched endlessly, the cool night air biting at her skin as her breath curled into faint clouds. It felt like an hour, maybe more, but she stayed, determined to face him.

The muffled sounds of music and laughter seeped through the cracked windows, but her focus was on the figure stumbling out the front door. Pyke, strolled out of the house, slightly stumbling from being buzzed, as walked toward his truck parked under the flickering streetlamp.

Her heart pounded as she stepped out of the shadows, catching him off guard.

"Pyke!" she called out.

He froze, turning slowly to face her. His eyes, bleary from the alcohol, sharpened for a split second when he recognized her. "Oz... what are you doing here?" he said, the carefree grin he wore feeling like a punch to her gut.

She didn't waste time. "You were one of them, weren't you?" Her words came out hard, full of accusation. "One of the masked men who held us at gunpoint today. You stole our key, Pyke. I know it was you."

He blinked, confusion crossing his face, but she didn't buy it. She stepped closer, her hands shaking with anger. "Were you also with them that night?" she demanded. "The night they nearly ran us off the road and shot at us? Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. "Why are you doing this? Is it for revenge? Do you know how close you came to killing me?"

He laughed—short, sharp, and humorless, and it angered her even more. "What the hell are you talking about, Oz?" He threw his hands up defensively. "I don't know what you're saying. Tried to kill you? Stole a key? I have no idea where you're getting this from."

Her jaw clenched, and she narrowed her eyes, studying him. "Don't play dumb with me, Pyke. I know you, better than anyone else. You think I wouldn't recognize you? Even with the mask on. You don't think I'd know the way you move, the way you stand? The way you smell? Don't insult me like that."

His face remained blank, his voice steady, even as a shadow of something unreadable flickered in his eyes. "You've lost it. I haven't done anything."

"You expect me to believe that?" she snapped, her frustration boiling over. "I saw you! You and those men... you're after the treasure, aren't you? Why? You don't need it. Your family has more money than they know what to do with."

He shook his head, his face becoming serious, almost wounded. "Listen to yourself. I'm not some masked gunman, and I sure as hell haven't tried to kill you." His words were slow and deliberate, but there was something behind them—something she couldn't quite read, a flicker of discomfort he was trying to hide.

She stepped even closer, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath. "So, you're saying you had nothing to do with it? You swear to me, Pyke, swear you weren't involved?"

He met her eyes "I swear," he said, his voice low, steady. But something in his gave her pause. It was the same look he used to give her when he'd been caught in a lie—calm on the surface, but his eyes... his eyes couldn't hide everything.

She took a shaky breath, the words spilling out like she'd been holding them in for ages.

"You're going to stand there and lie right to my face," she scoffed. "You used to be the one person I thought would never hurt me." She gave a dry laugh, eyes glistening. "I would have trusted you with my life, and now..." her tears she'd been holding back slipped down her cheeks. His face twisted as he moved closer, reaching out to comfort her.

"Don't!" she snapped, stepping out of reach. "You nearly killed me. Do you even understand what that feels like?"

For a moment, he looked at her with something almost like grief, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. But she took a step back, her expression hardening as she wiped the tears from her face.

"Well, here I am," she said throwing her hands up."If you want me dead, here's your chance. "

He swallowed, his hands curling into fists, but he stayed silent, his gaze dropping to the ground.

She laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "What's wrong? You can hide behind a mask, you can beat up my friends, shoot at me from a moving car, break into my house with a gun—but when I'm standing right here, you can't touch me?" She shoved him, hard, her hands trembling as she pushed against his chest. "Do something. What are you waiting for? Show me you're not the coward you keep proving yourself to be."

"Oz, stop," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper as he raised his hands, palms open in surrender.

"Stop?" she scoffed, shoving him again, her hands striking his chest with a fierce, desperate energy. "Isn't this what you wanted? Isn't this what you're so proud of, being tough enough to scare the life out of me and my friends?"

He winced at her words, but she didn't let up. Each word hit harder, and with every shove, her voice grew louder, her pain spilling out.

"You're a coward," she spat, her eyes blazing as she pushed him again. "You hide behind your friends, your family, your money—what are you without all of that? Nothing. Just a sad, pathetic coward."

Her hands went to shove him again, but this time, he caught them, his expression torn between anger and shame.

She gasped, instinctively trying to pull away.

"Enough," he said, his voice low. "You've made your point. Now it's time for you to go home."

She yanked her hands free, and he raised his in a gesture of surrender. "Believe what you want," he said, voice softening. "But I'm not your enemy."

She studied him, her gaze fierce yet heartbreakingly resolute. "Well, your sure as hell not someone I can trust, not anymore." Without another word, she wiped her eyes and turned to leave.

"Oz," he called, drawing her to a halt. She glanced back, waiting.

He hesitated, his expression conflicted. "I'm not saying I know anything about what you're accusing me of, but... this treasure hunt you're on—it sounds like its dangerous. Just please... watch your back." His tone wasn't a threat, but a warning.

"Count on it," she replied, her voice steady. She turned and walked away, fading into the night, leaving him alone, burdened with his own choices.