Like with Finn, I don’t think Ever realizes quite how obvious their body language is. In-game, their poker face is fantastic. Here, they’re broadcasting their nerves. Their worries. And the fact that they’re lying through their teeth right now.
I slowly unclench my hands and wrap my arms around my torso. “I know, and I appreciate that. Let’s get through this weekend first, see how everything goes.”
They nod. Then a hesitant smile breaks through on their face. “You do have a murder to solve, after all.”
I plaster a smile on my face too. Nod in the direction of the cabin. “So here’s hoping we will. And that we’ll survive the weekend in the process.”
“I hope you mean in-game.”
“Well, we do have a cabin in the woods. Isn’t that asking for trouble?”
Ever hikes their backpack a bit higher up their shoulders. “Ah yes, the oh-so-idyllic, ultramodern cabin of the Konig family. Ghost stories aside, the only trouble we can get into is accidentally locking ourselves in or out. Liva allowed me to set up here yesterday, and it may be the most high-tech cabin I’ve ever seen. Stray bears couldn’t make their way through those doors, they’re all so well locked.”
“Liva’s dad is always worried about her safety.” I hate those locks. Still, the smile comes easier this time. Ever’s right. The cabin is a modern fairy-tale sort of place, and over the years, Liva and her parents kept refurbishing and modernizing it. BTA, and despite all the ghost stories, Liva and I spent countless nights here. She told me she’d keep me safe from the ghosts.
Now, I need to survive the weekend on my own terms.
I never did bring the cookies.
Three
Liva
From the outside, my cabin looks like any other in these mountains. Endless logs and a small, well-crafted porch with a door that leads to the large living room spanning pretty much the entire first floor, aside from the narrow kitchen at the back. A wooden staircase winds its way up to the second floor, where small guestrooms line the hallway, with a single decently sized bathroom at the back. It was built for simplicity, but my family added a sense of modernity.
But most of that is hidden away. It’s not until you get close that you can see that the door, with cute wind chimes hanging in front of it, is reinforced and the windows are insulated. And inside, everything from the heating to the kitchen appliances runs on fully automated systems.
What can I say? Mom liked luxury when she still came up here, and while Dad despises unnecessary expenses—or emotional expenses—he always did everything for her. Now Mom spends most of her time in Miami, and the cabin is all mine. I take better care of it anyway—well, except for the road leading up here. I respect the history of this place. With a little help from the internet and Dad’s credit card, I redesigned the large living room and kitchen after Mom left, bringing in all the original elements again, like the comfortable couches around the electric fireplace and the thick rugs.
I reorganized the five bedrooms, giving them all their own subtle themes. Forest lodge. Seaside mystery. Haunted mansion. Lava flow. And my room, of course. I stayed here long weekends with Maddy—and with Zac back when he wasn’t an arrogant ass yet and we were still dating. By the end of it, he knew this place as well as I do. (Although as far as Dad was concerned, those weekends were spent with Maddy too.)
Being here feels like coming home. And I love inviting others to the cabin and allowing them to appreciate the luxury too. If only because it’s interesting to see how they react to it.
I go to unlock the door, and Maddy eyes it with suspicion. We visited right after Dad had everything installed, and the wires tripped, locking us in for almost an entire day before help could come. It was Zac, of all people, who got my SOS first and who managed to hack through the door.
He’d smirked once he got us out. “You should know better than not to have an exit strategy, Liv. Before you know it, you’ll get caught in someone else’s game.”
Now, once the door opens, Maddy breezes through, barely glancing at the living room before making her way upstairs. She’s always had the same storm-blue room. Even if Maddy’s changed since the car accident, that hasn’t.
Carter comes up next to me outside the front door.
“This place is beautiful,” he breathes.
I feel a flash of satisfaction. “Thank you.”
When he looks at me, he looks almost hungry. He’s not in love with this cabin; he’s in lust. “I can’t believe you don’t spend every weekend here.”
I shrug. “I’ve considered it, but I do have to put in my assistant hours at the company. You know how it goes.”
Carter kicks his suitcase. “Yeah, I know.”
I smile thinly. Parents and expectations. We both have to deal with them.
“C’mon,” I say. “Let’s go see what Ever did with the living room.”
Inside is like a whole different world, as if we crossed the threshold and truly entered Gonfalon, city of mages. Ever took the normal aesthetics of the cabin and expanded on them.
As a creator myself, I appreciate that. They have an eye for detail. It’s everywhere: in the signs that hang over the doors, indicating they’re still locked; the chalk markings on the floor; the locks strewn across the table. They took a wooden staff and a wooden sword and mounted them on a plaque above the fireplace. It frankly looks a lot better than the deer head that usually hangs there, the one accessory that Dad never let me get rid of, because he shot it himself and he wanted it to be a reminder of the fragility of life or something like that.
Small mechanics and wind-up toys clutter the windowsills. The chairs are draped in covers I made years ago: mossy green with the seal of the Gonfalon city council cross-stitched along the edges. It’s the same seal I’ve included in all of our costumes: a parchment scroll with a stylized, golden G, the same kind I have drawn on my nails. The G signifies we all belong together, at least for a few more days.
It can’t last. I know that. I know that. It’s a miracle it lasted so long. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to give it up yet. This group of friends has taught me so much about myself, about who I am and where I fit in.
Dad would tell me attachment is a weakness, but they made me stronger.
And until I have to let go, we’re together, like we were when it started.
Finn leans his crutches against a chair. “Wow, Ever.”
“You like it?” Ever whispers.
I turn to them. “Yer a wizard, Ev.”
Finn nods in agreement, and I see the sparkle that used to always be in his stormy-blue eyes. His hesitant smile is bright enough to light up the room, even if the rest of him is still cautious and uncomfortable around me. I can’t help but feel a disconnect too. Before Maddy, Finn was my best friend, but I didn’t have access to the cabin yet. Seeing him here feels like two worlds colliding, and it leaves me unsettled.