Page 12

The bus ride was a disaster.

Not in the we-crashed-into-a-ditch-and-are-now-being-chases-by-wolves way (though, frankly, that would have been better), but in the dear-gods-make-it-stop way.

It all started with Joy. Because, of course, it did.

"A song for our journey!" She declared, standing in the aisle like some kind of ancient bard who had just discovered sound. "A song to lift our spirits!"

I prayed. I begged the universe to strike her a blow from where she stood.

But the universe? It hated me.

"Country rooooads," Joy belted out, painfully off-key.

Ethan jumped in without hesitation—probably because embarrassment required a soul. "Take me hoooome—"

Their duet was a blessed distraction, slicing through the silence that had bloated between us like an overinflated balloon.

Moments ago, Ethan had warned me to forget what I had seen. Now, I couldn't help but keep on replaying it—what I saw on his phone, what it meant, what he meant.

And here he was, singing like we weren’t orbiting a black hole of unresolved tension.

This wasn’t just awkward. It was nuclear.

Someone please kill me.

Max, grinning like the devil’s hype man, leaned forward. "To the place—"

"GUYS, NO," I whispered to myself, but it was too late. The jocks had taken over.

What followed was less singing and more of a chaotic, gut-wrenching wailing that could probably be classified as a war crime. I honestly pitied glasses. Notes were slaughtered. Lyrics were forgotten. Somewhere in the great beyond, the gods of music were shaking their heads in disappointment.

I groaned, yanking my hood over my head, clutching my research tablet like a lifeline. How was I supposed to concentrate when Ethan was trying (and failing) to hit high notes like a drunk siren?

Across the aisle, Mia was recording everything, looking absolutely delighted. Her shadow crystal camera hummed softly as it absorbed the scene, capturing every terrible note for future blackmail material.

Next to her, Shun was humming along mildly while scrolling through her phone, probably liking memes from some meme lord’s comedy page. How she could do both at once was beyond my comprehension.

Mr. Dax? Dead to the world. As usual. Just slumped against the window, snoring like this wasn’t the worst performance in the history of worst performances.

After an eternity, the disorder finally died down.

The once-roaring jocks devolved into muttering, groaning, and the occasional off-key hum.

By the time we stopped, the bus was eerily silent except for the rustling of snack wrappers and engine vibration.

Mr. Dax was awake, saving my poor ears from any more bleeding.

Then, I saw a hotel. The hotel from the map.

And instantly wished I was anywhere else. The images online were definitely from the century when dinosaurs existed. I only chose it because of the affordable pricing. I guess we were paying more with our lives than cash, huh.

“Welcome to the hotel from my nightmares,” I whispered to myself.

The hotel stood against the backdrop of a star-dusted sky, its once-grand stone walls crumbling with age. The wooden sign, carved with glowing runes that flickered weakly, read: The Sleeping Dragon Inn.

It did not look like it had housed a dragon.

It barely looked like it had housed people.

The windows were foggy despite the dry night air, and the door creaked open before anyone touched it—an unsettling invitation. The lanterns on the porch cast long, eerie shadows that danced against the cracked stone steps, moving like they had minds of their own.

"Uhh…" I hesitated. "Did anyone check if this place is cursed?" As if anyone else cared to check anything.

Joy patted my shoulder. "Clark, everything is cursed if you think hard enough."

"That doesn't make me feel better.”

The moment we stepped inside, I knew we had made a mistake. The place smelled like damp stone, old wood, and utter regret. A crooked sign above the counter read: "Welcome! Pay in advance, or be hexed in your sleep."

"Charming," I muttered.

An old elven innkeeper, wrapped in too many cloaks, emerged from the shadows. "Adventurers," she croaked. "You’ll be wanting food and rooms."

Mr. Dax handed over some coins. "Dinner first."

I prayed it would be edible.

Spoiler alert: It wasn’t.

We stepped into the dining hall. It was questionable at best—wobbly chairs, mismatched plates, and a massive stuffed basilisk head watching us from above the fireplace. Then the food arrived.

A vintage cauldron of something brown landed with a thud. The innkeeper ladled it out, the consistency somewhere between glue and mildly sentient.

"Uh… what is this?" I poked it with my spoon. It jiggled.

"Stew," the innkeeper said.

"Stew of what?" Joy asked.

She just grinned.

Ethan took a bite. "Not the worst thing I’ve eaten."

"You eat people’s souls, Ethan," I quipped, trying to make it look like I had forgotten everything from Mt. Cain. "Your opinion is invalid."

Max shrugged and dug in. "It’s hearty."

I took a bite.

Regret. Instant regret.

It tasted like it had seen things. Like it had absorbed centuries of bad decisions. Like it was, in fact, a curse.

Joy sighed. "If I die from this, tell my parents I went out fighting."

Mr. Dax clapped his hands. "Alright, finish up! I’ll read out the room assignments next."

I dropped my spoon. "I hate this trip."

Joy patted my shoulder. "We know, bud."

As we walked out, Mr. Dax, smirking like he was about to ruin lives, clapped his hands.

"Alright, listen up!" he called. "Room assignments!"

I frowned. Room assignments? Why did I have a bad feeling about this?

"Max and Logan!"

Max fist-bumped his fellow jock who had taken the fake name from a wildlife club member. That was fine. I guess.

"Mia and Joy!"

Mia grinned, and Joy shot me a thumbs-up. That was also fine.

"Shun and Lucy!"

Shun barely reacted. She knew, of course, she was going to sneak out to Max.

The rest of the list went on and on without me hearing my name. After each pair of not hearing my name, my stomach formed knots until now it was the last pair, and damn I hadn't heard his name…

Gods of peace and dignity please don't do this to me.

"And finally—" Mr. Dax glanced at the list.

But since when did gods hear me?

"Clark and Ethan!"

My soul left my body.

"No," I said immediately.

"Yes," Mr. Dax replied, already moving on.

"Wait—what—hold on, that has to be a mistake," I stammered, waving my hands. "Surely you don’t expect me to—"

"Rooming will be permanent for the next 19 days," Mr. Dax continued like I hadn’t spoken. "Any complaints?"

"Yes," I said.

"No one cares," he said back.

I turned to Ethan, horrified. He was grinning.

"This is gonna be fun," he said.

Fun?! FUN?!

The broken kind of fun? No thanks.

I was going to die.

I dragged my feet and suitcase up the twisting staircase, dreading whatever awaited me. The walls were covered in faded tapestries, depicting battles that had happened centuries ago. Some of them… moved. Probably an old enchantment. Probably harmless.

The door creaked ominously as we opened it.

The room was—how do I put this—a violation of basic human decency.

The stone walls were lined with sconces, their glow eerily dim. The single window had a thick curtain that looked like it had last been washed when the empire was still standing. The bed? One. Small. Lumpy. Probably cursed.

Please tell me we weren't sharing this bed with Ethan. But I couldn't see any other bed, so I guess my guess is as good as yours.

A moth the size of my fist fluttered lazily near the ceiling, giving me creeps.

Ethan clapped his hands. "Nice."

"This is not nice," I corrected.

Ethan ignored me and grabbed a towel. "Dibs on the shower."

I sat down at the rickety desk, my laptop flickering to life. The enchanted wireless connection was weak, but if I positioned it just right—

A burst of steam escaped from the bathroom, carrying the scent of mint and something warm. I barely noticed at first. Then Ethan walked out.

And my brain short-circuited.

He was shirtless. Barefoot. His golden hair, still damp, curled slightly at the ends. The firelight from the sconces flickered across his toned arms and—

I tore my gaze away so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.

No. Absolutely not. I refused to acknowledge that Ethan looked like a fallen star out of a heroic epic.

"You good?" Ethan asked, smirking.

"I will report you to the authorities," I muttered, furiously typing at my laptop.

He just laughed and threw on a shirt. Then, because he is a menace, he leaned against the desk.

"Wanna sneak out?"

"No."

"C’mon."

"Absolutely not."

"You’re no fun."

"Correct."

Ethan rolled his eyes—then, without warning, jumped out the window.

I stared in horror.

For a moment, I considered pretending I hadn’t seen anything. Maybe he would get lost. Maybe I could get some peace.

Then I remembered Principal Catherine’s warning. Keep your eyes on Ethan. No. KEEP YOUR EYES ON ETHAN. In bold capitalized letters.

I groaned, rubbing my temples.

"If he gets me killed, I’m haunting him," I muttered.

And then—because my life is cursed—I climbed out after him.