The first thing I noticed was how time stilled the moment we stepped into the old wooden cottage. Rain had started drumming on the roof like nature's heartbeat, frantic and erratic. Thunder echoed like it was tearing through the sky itself. But inside… there was something dreamlike.
Lena lit the fireplace with a flick of her lighter. Her long auburn hair shimmered like copper threads in the glow, her green eyes bright, curious, like they could see through my skin into my secrets. She moved with the elegance of a dancer barefoot, wrapped in a cashmere shawl that made her look like something out of a forest myth.
And then there was Milo.
god. Milo.
He shrugged off his soaked jacket, muscles rippling under his white t-shirt plastered to his chest by the rain like it had worshipped him. He looked like a sculpture brought to life: hair dark and damp, eyes the color of a storm, jaw cut like marble. His voice? Deep velvet. The kind that could make you forget your name.
"I told you we should've waited before hiking into the woods," he said with a crooked grin, water dripping from his curls.
"You just wanted an excuse to play hero," I teased, forcing a laugh to mask the ache crawling up my throat.
Because standing there with him my best friend, my not-so-secret muse in a stormy cottage lit by firelight, felt like the start of something I wasn't ready to name.
"I brought dry clothes," Lena announced cheerfully. "There's only two sets, so… someone's sharing."
"Oh wow, what a tragic inconvenience," I muttered under my breath, eyes flicking to Milo's bare arms as he stripped off his shirt without hesitation.
He laughed. "Don't sound so broken up about it."
I rolled my eyes and turned to explore the cottage anything to distract myself.
The place had this eerie kind of charm. Dusty bookshelves lined the walls, packed with journals and tomes in languages I didn't recognize. A huge mirror leaned against one wall, covered in cobwebs. And then I saw it the notebook.
Black leather. Golden edges. Resting on a writing desk that looked older than time itself.
I ran my fingers over the cover, a chill running down my spine like it recognized me.
"What's that?" Milo's voice was close behind me. Too close.
"A notebook," I whispered. "It feels… weird. Like it's humming."
"Maybe it's cursed," he joked, and I wanted to laugh, but the notebook felt anything but funny.
Outside, thunder cracked like a warning.
Inside, something ancient had just awakened.