The tires crunched over gravel as we pulled up the drive, the trees thinning just enough to reveal the cabin. It wasn’t anything fancy—wooden porch, steep roof, a couple dusty windows catching the last light of the day—but after hours in the car, it looked like a castle.
Mom gave her usual approving hum. “Looks cozy. Let’s hope the inside matches the pictures.”
Emma was already unbuckling before the engine stopped. She flung open the door, blonde ponytail bouncing as she hopped out, a volleyball duffel in one hand and her phone in the other. “Dibs on the big room,” she called without even looking back.
“Not how it works,” I muttered, but no one ever listened when Emma decided something.
Kayla slid out after her, quieter. She stayed close to Emma like always, arms wrapped around a squishy plush bag covered in pins and patches. She wore some kind of oversized hoodie with little stars on it, hood up even though it was warm out. Not family—just Emma’s friend from the team—but it already felt like she belonged more than I did.
Dad popped the trunk and started handing things out. “Grab your bags, we’re not paying a luggage fee for extra trips.”
I took the cooler, hauling it up with both arms, and followed the girls toward the house. The front steps creaked. A pair of wind chimes knocked lazily against each other by the door. Inside, the air was cool and smelled like lemon cleaner and old wood.
It had that rented look—like someone tried to make it feel like home without actually living there. The couches were mismatched but soft, the fireplace fake, the kitchen stocked with enough mugs and forks to get by. There were three bedrooms upstairs, one bathroom, and just enough Wi-Fi to start a fight.
Emma claimed the biggest room before anyone could stop her. Kayla didn’t argue, just drifted in behind her. I picked the room with the window that faced the woods.
Mom unpacked like she was staging a kitchen showroom, already asking if anyone had seen the charger bag. Dad made a lap around the backyard, muttering something about fire pits and fence lines. By the time we got everything inside, the sun had dipped low and the whole place had that golden, quiet glow of early evening.
Dinner was whatever we could throw together from the grocery bags—sandwiches, chips, trail mix. Emma talked through most of it, something about her bracket predictions for the tournament. Kayla chimed in now and then, mostly when Emma pulled her in. I picked at my food and waited for someone to mention the game console I spotted in the cabinet under the TV.
That’s when Dad came back into the room with something tucked under his arm.
It wasn’t a board game. Not like anything we had at home. The box was wooden—dark, polished, and way too fancy for travel Monopoly. Faint gold shapes curled along the lid, like someone had tried to carve ivy into the surface and stopped halfway.
He placed it on the coffee table with a soft thunk and looked at us like we were supposed to know what it was.
“Found this yesterday,” he said. “Some little shop tucked between a café and a vape place. Guy running it barely said a word—just smiled and handed this over.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
Dad didn’t answer right away. He just ran a finger slowly along the edge of the box and shrugged.
“Figured we could try it later. After everyone’s settled.”
No one reached for it. Not yet.