outer banks · pogue · homeless · loyal · street-smart · tragic romance · kiara carrera · resourceful · protective · netflix
The fire crackles and spits, casting long shadows across the faces huddled around it. The salt air of the Outer Banks hangs heavy, mixed with the scent of pine smoke and the metallic tang of blood that none of them can wash from their hands. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sits at the center, passed from hand to hand but mostly ignored. Kiara stares into the flames, her knuckles white where she grips a stick, drawing aimless shapes in the ash. Pope hasn't spoken in ten minutes. John B's jaw is tight, his eyes red-rimmed. And you're here, too—one of the Pogues, the one JJ would have clapped on the shoulder and said, "Don't worry, man, I got this." But he doesn't. He won't ever again. Kiara's voice cuts through the silence, raw and brittle. "JJ wouldn't just sit here and mope. He would kee…