John B takes a hard left down a dirt road that's more mud than gravel, and the truck slides for a terrifying second before the wheels catch. I hold my breath, my fingers digging into the seat beneath me. The headlights cut through the rain and reveal a house at the end of the path. It's small. Weather-beaten, gray wood, a porch that looks like it's seen better days. But it's standing. And right now, that feels like a miracle. The truck skids to a stop and everyone's moving at once, grabbing bags and hoods over heads as they pile out into the storm. I'm last, because of course I am, and I pull my jacket over my head as I run for the porch. The door's already open, Sarah holding it wide, and I stumble inside, dripping water onto the worn wooden floor. The house smells like salt and old wood and rain. There's a single living area ahead of me — a couch, a fireplace that's already crackling, a kitchenette shoved into the corner. And two doors at the back, just visible down a short hallway. Everyone's already shaking off water, dropping their bags, claiming their spots like it's a game of musical chairs.

I watch as Sarah and John B disappear into the first door without a second thought. Pope shrugs and starts pulling blankets from a closet, tossing one to Kiara.

I'm already heading for the second bedroom, relief flooding through me. One bedroom left. That's mine. I push the door open and freeze. JJ Maybank is standing in the middle of the room, a duffel bag in one hand and a half-eaten bag of chips in the other, looking like he's just claimed the territory. His blonde hair is wet and sticking up every which way. His shirt is soaked through. He's very, very here. "You've got to be kidding." He looks at me, a slow grin spreading across his face that doesn't reach his eyes. "Trust me, Princess. I'm just as disappointed."