From Frost to Flame

Part 58: The Second Glass

Without thinking, Pete took the glass and brought it to his lips. He took his first sip, and it was just the beginning.

But it wasn't enough. Not yet. Not for everything that was simmering beneath the surface. His gaze drifted across the room, and there—Vegas. Standing with a group, shoulders relaxed, laughing faintly at something someone said. Not even glancing at Pete's way.

Pete's throat tightened. He lifted the glass again. The second sip went down quicker than the first, the burn dulling into something easier, almost necessary.

"Whoa, slowly, buddy. Easy." Sky leaned closer, eyebrows raised. "What's gotten into you?"

Pete forced a shaky laugh, brushing it off. "Nothing." But his hand betrayed him, already reaching for the bottle to pour again.

Sky's eyes lingered on him, concern flickering, but Pete ignored it. He set the glass down just long enough to grab his phone.

His thumbs hovered before he started typing a message to Porsche.

He's acting cold. I don't... I don't know what I did wrong. It hurts more than I thought it would.- 

He stopped halfway, sending another message, then His eyes flicked up instead, and landed on Vegas again.

Vegas was still talking, still laughing faintly with the others, like Pete didn't even exist. Not a glance. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

Something inside Pete sank, hard. He put his phone down on the table and rose to his feet. His steps carried him away from Sky, away from the chatter, toward the corner where the bar setup gleamed beneath soft lights.

"Whiskey," he said, his voice lower than usual, as if the weight of it pressed against his chest. The bartender poured, and Pete took the glass like it was the only thing steady in his hand.

Back at the table, his phone lit up. Porsche's name.

It rang once. Pete didn't notice.

The second time, still no response.

By the third ring, Porsche gave up and called Kinn.

"Hello, love," Kinn's voice came through—warm, amused, carrying that soft tone he reserved just for Porsche.

"Kinn!" Porsche's voice cracked on the other side, sharp with panic. "Why the hell are you not answering sooner? Where are you? Where is Pete?"

Kinn straightened in his seat, frowning. "Slow down. What happened?"

"We're at the party right now," he said quickly, eyes scanning the crowd.
 "Pete's here with us. Why are you asking?"

"He's not answering his phone!" Porsche's voice was tight, angry, worried all at once.

Kinn chuckled softly, trying to calm him.

"He must be enjoying, love. Maybe—"

"No." Porsche's voice cut through, firm and sharp. "He didn't sound fine. Something's wrong. Find him. Kinn."

Kinn hesitated. "Porsche—"

"I'm coming. Send me the address."

Before Kinn could answer, the line went dead.

Kinn exhaled, staring at the phone for a moment, the weight of Porsche's worry settling on his shoulders.

Meanwhile, Pete sat hunched at the bar in the corner of the hall, the untouched second glass beside him, the third poured already waiting.

And he hadn't even noticed the storm heading his way.

After hanging up the call, Kinn's eyes immediately swept the crowded hall. His gaze darted between groups of guests, the shimmer of sequins, the flash of glasses raised in toasts—but no Pete. He stood on his toes for a better look, irritation curling at the edges of his worry.

That's when he caught sight of Sky lounging on the sofa at the far end, one leg crossed casually over the other. Without wasting a second, Kinn strode straight there.

"Sky—did you see Pete? Where is he?" Kinn's voice was sharp, more clipped than usual.

Sky blinked, glancing up at him. "He was here a few minutes ago, drinking. Then he went that way." He gestured vaguely with his hand toward some direction.

Kinn frowned, immediately dialing Pete's number again.

A sudden ringing broke through the chatter nearby. Both he and Sky turned toward the sound—coming from the sofa itself.

There was a phone.

Kinn snatched it up, staring down at the device in his hand, his jaw tightening. A flicker of unease crossed his face now—because Pete never left his phone behind.

It was Pete's phone.

He never leaves his phone behind, Sky had said.
Yet the phone was sitting right there on the couch, screen dark, abandoned like it had slipped from Pete's pocket.

That got Kinn's attention. His jaw tightened as he glanced at the device, and he moved fast after that, weaving through the crowd until  His gaze landed on Vegas.

 Vegas stood among two or three men, polite smile fixed, words flowing too easily for someone who didn't mean them. 

He went to Vegas and pulled Vegas aside.

"Vegas." Kinn tugged his arm, sharp enough to draw attention. "We need to—"

Vegas frowned. "What happened?"

Kinn grabbed his arm, pulling him slightly aside. "Do you know where Pete is? Did you see him?"

Vegas blinked, sharp eyes narrowing. "He must be with Sky. Or Day."

"He's not." Kinn's voice was cold steel.

Vegas's voice cut in, low but sharp. "Then call him.

Kinn didn't move. Instead, he slid a hand into his pocket, pulled something out, and shoved it into Vegas's line of sight. Pete's phone.

"He won't," Kinn said evenly. "Because I have this." "He never leaves this behind."

For a beat, the hum of chatter around them seemed to dull.  Vegas's gaze flicked from the phone to Kinn's unreadable face, heat pressing into his chest.


The mask slipped. Just barely—but Kinn caught it. Vegas's shoulders stiffened, his breath uneven for a split second before he forced himself still again.

Kinn's eyes narrowed. "Did you do something, Vegas?"

Vegas didn't answer. Not denial, not confirmation. Just silence.

Kinn's jaw tightened, and his hand fell away from Vegas's arm with a shove. His voice came like steel, quiet but cutting.

"Find him, Vegas. You idiot."

Vegas froze for a heartbeat, the room seeming to blur around him. His chest tightened, a flicker of worry crossing his face. Slowly, he let out a quiet breath, jaw tightening as he moved off, intent on finding Pete.