By the time I get back to the mansion, it's almost three in the freaking morning. Everything's dead quiet, except for the soft sound of my shoes clicking against the marble floor as I sneak in like I've just committed a crime. Maybe I have—maybe staying out this late with thoughts I can't untangle should be illegal.
I smell like saltwater and sea wind, like the night wrapped around me and didn't let go. My skin's sticky with dried air, and I swear there's sand still clinging to the back of my knees. Gross.
First thing I do is head straight to the bathroom without turning on too many lights. I already texted August earlier, told him I needed some time and that I was heading to the beach. So at least he won't go full-on royal panic when he wakes up and realizes I'm not there. Not that he w
