Chapter 9 - Freya's POV

There were moments when Freya swore the flames were whispering things. Not actual words, obviously — she wasn't losing it — but that constant crackling, that hiss-snap of burning wood... it had the same cadence as secrets.

The problem was, everyone had a secret tonight.

And those secrets were starting to slosh dangerously close to the surface.

She needed to steer this night back toward fun, fast, before anyone picked up on something they weren't supposed to.

Like how Malachi had subtly brushed his hand against hers earlier when MK dared her to crawl through the sand like a crab.

Or how Milo kept glancing at Meg every time someone teased them about "friendship goals."

Freya could feel Sway watching. Not in a bad way — more like a cat staring at a puzzle piece that doesn't quite fit.

It was time to play the distraction card.

She gave the bottle a playful spin, making sure her hoodie sleeves flopped around like too-long octopus arms. "Okay! Time to raise the stakes," she said, voice bright. "We're in round six, people. We're professionals. If you've made it this far, you're not allowed to pick truth unless your last dare involved someone screaming."

Everyone laughed. Even Chandler, who had been giving MK a side-eye for the past five minutes after he tried to rhyme "beach" with "leech" in his Julian-rap.

The bottle pointed to Chandler.

"Oh, come on," Chandler groaned. "Fine. Dare. Obviously."

Freya grinned. "You have to pick two people and create a dramatic fake argument between them. Script it. Direct it. We want drama."

Chandler lit up. "YES."

She tapped her chin. "Okay... Milo and MK. You're exes. You broke up because Milo adopted a snake behind MK's back, and it lives in the bathroom now. Go."

MK gasped like he'd been stabbed. "You knew I had a phobia!"

"I needed emotional support!"

"I needed to pee without fear!"

They both stood, throwing themselves into a ridiculous pantomime of exaggerated gestures, Milo clutching his heart, MK flailing his arms like a silent film actor.

Julian whispered to Sway, "Oscar-worthy."

Sway whispered back, "Independent short film with limited distribution."

The moment worked. Everyone laughed so hard that Freya had to clutch her side.

When they finished, Chandler took a dramatic bow. "Thank you. I direct community theatre."

The next few rounds blurred together — dares that involved clumsy cartwheels, weird accents, Julian dancing to a made-up jingle MK sang on the spot. Everyone was losing steam in the best possible way.

Freya let herself relax.

The shift had worked. No one was poking anymore.

She even saw Sway smirk and tuck her legs under her, leaning into Chandler's shoulder like the detective in her had been temporarily sedated by marshmallow sugar and chaotic energy.

Malachi nudged her with his knee when no one was looking.

"You're good at this," he murmured.

She smiled. "At what?"

"At playing chess when everyone else is playing Uno."

That made her snort. "I'll take that as a compliment."

The bottle spun again and landed on her.

"Dare!" she said before anyone could ask. "I am not letting any of you fish around my past tonight."

Meg laughed. "You're safe. I already did the emotional truth thing."

"Okay," Milo said, stretching like he was prepping for a speech. "I dare you to—oh wait—Meg, you got anything?"

Meg grinned mischievously. "Oh, I've got one."

Freya raised a brow, mock-wary.

Meg leaned in like she was about to unveil a plot twist: "I dare you to sing the Zombies 7 love duet — the one with the high note — using only chicken clucks."

Freya gaped. "No."

"Yes," Milo said immediately.

Malachi added, "Yes forever."

"I hate you all," Freya said, but stood anyway.

Sway was already recording. "This is the greatest day of my life."

Freya cleared her throat dramatically and then launched into the first verse of "One More Lifetime" in full poultry performance.

It was deeply, profoundly stupid.

And yet—everyone lost it.

MK fell over. Julian wheezed. Chandler was crying.

By the time Freya got to the key change, she was clucking so hard her throat actually hurt, but it was worth it for the way Malachi looked at her like she was both brilliant and insane and possibly the love of his life.

That was enough.

Later, when the fire died down just a little and the bottle slowed its spinning, Freya leaned her head on Malachi's shoulder — briefly, subtly. Just a second.

No one noticed.

Or if they did, they were too tired or sugar-dazed to care.

Even Sway didn't comment.

That was the thing about performing just enough chaos: people looked where you pointed. They laughed at the loud things, and stopped asking about the quiet ones.

Freya smiled to herself.

Secrets stayed safe tonight.

For now.