Daniel finally showed up when I was already halfway across the driveway.
I'd made it past the trees, past the point where the gravel gave way to stone, shoulders screaming, fingers numb from digging into fabric straps that were definitely not designed to be carried by one person. Two suitcases. Three bags. A backpack that kept sliding down my arm like it was mocking me.
That's when Daniel stepped in.
"Hey," he said, easy. Too easy. He reached for one of the bags like this had always been the plan. "I got it."
I stopped walking.
Just for a second.
Then I handed it over.
Of course now he helps. After I've already hauled everything halfway like some pack mule auditioning for a role I didn't apply for. The timing felt intentional. Like a comment without words. Like, good job, kid, now let the adult handle it.
"Thanks," I said flatly. Or maybe I didn't say it at all. Hard to tell. My jaw was tight.
He didn't react. Just adjusted his grip and kept walking beside me like we were equals. That annoyed me more than if he'd smirked.
Inside the house, voices echoed—warm, overlapping. The kind of sound that said home without asking permission. The grandparents—John and Margaret—were already fussing over Martha and Margaret in the parlor. I caught the names as they were said out loud and felt something twist unexpectedly.
John. Margaret.
So that's why my sister was named Margaret.
Cute. I guess. Real cute. A whole lineage I'd never known existed, casually unfolding like it was normal.
Irithiel appeared at the doorway as we stepped inside.
She hesitated, then smiled—small but real—and walked over to me. "Hi," she said. "Um… how are you?"
She held out her hand. Not formal. Not stiff. Just… hopeful.
I walked past her.
Didn't even look down.
I told myself my hands were full. I told myself I was tired. I told myself I didn't owe anyone anything. All of it sounded convincing enough in my head.
Daniel noticed. Of course he did.
He didn't say anything.
He just shifted slightly, putting himself between us without making it obvious, and nodded at Irithiel like it was fine. Like she hadn't done anything wrong.
That pissed me off too.
"Your room's upstairs," he said to me. "Attic."
Great.
He led the way, taking the steps two at a time, moving like someone who already knew the house wouldn't betray him. I followed, dragging the last bag, every step creaking like a complaint.
"So," he said, casual, "how was the trip?"
Long. I didn't say that.
"Hope the drive wasn't too rough," he added.
I exhaled through my nose. "Fourteen hours. No signal. No internet. You tell me."
He nodded like that was fair. "Yeah. That stretch does that."
Like it was weather. Like it wasn't personal.
"And the city?" he asked. "Must feel different out here."
I laughed once. Short. Sharp. "You mean the middle of nowhere?"
He didn't rise to it.
The stairs narrowed as we went up, the walls closing in, the light dimmer the higher we climbed. The house felt older up here. Less curated. Like this part remembered things.
Daniel stopped at a door and pushed it open. "Here."
The attic room was bigger than I expected. Slanted ceiling. Wooden beams. A bed already made. Boxes stacked neatly in the corner like someone had cared enough to anticipate us.
He set the bag down. Then paused.
"Listen," he said, tone changing—not heavy, just careful. "They missed you. Your grandparents. Even if you don't remember them."
I said nothing.
"They talk about you and your sisters like you never left," he continued. "I know this isn't… ideal. But if you can—" He hesitated. "If you can try to be open. Even just a little. You don't have to do it for me."
I looked at him finally. "My current personality," I said, slow, measured, "is the result of shattered plans, broken expectations, and being stuck somewhere I don't want to be. So if I seem unenthusiastic, that's why."
He studied me for a second.
Then he chuckled.
Not mean. Not mocking. Just… amused. Like he'd heard this speech before from someone else who'd grown up and lived through it.
"Alright," he said. "Dinner's in a bit."
And then he left me alone.
I dropped the last bag and walked to the window.
The attic had the best view in the house.
Straight out over the forest.
Endless trees. Layered green. The same suffocating stretch I'd spent hours driving through, now laid out like a painting I couldn't look away from.
I frowned.
Of all the rooms.
Of course this would be mine.
Top it off with the terrible truth that the window had no curtain.
Of course it didn't. No way to block the view, no way to stack my meager box and bag into some kind of fortress to shield my eyes from whatever sadistic painter decided this forest was heaven on earth. I squinted, trying to find a loophole, a way to make the green disappear. None. The trees just kept staring back. Endless, suffocating green.
And then the door creaked.
Martha strolled in. High and mighty, as if she owned the house, the forest, and by extension me. Her gaze swept the attic room like she was inspecting a peasant's hut. That smirk—the one that always made me feel like a lesser species—spread across her face. Of course. Of course this was my domain: a dusty old attic, while she got to roam the parlor like royalty.
"Come on, loser," she said, practically waving me down. "Dinner."
I didn't argue. Didn't need to. This was standard protocol. Frown firmly in place, I muttered under my breath something I thought sounded smart about quantum physics—something I vaguely remembered from a TikTok compilation—but she cut me off mid-snark.
"Watch it," she said, eyes rolling. "You're looking at a prodigy, not a dumb bum like you. You treat me as such."
Then she kicked me. Hard, right in the knee, and ran out, screaming like I'd assaulted her personally, calling for Aunt Serene. I swore silently, internally screaming in a way that made my stomach ache.
---
Dinner.
Aunt Serene was already in full control of the table, feeding Martha like she was some delicate bird while Margaret peppered Irithiel with questions about the forests beyond the mansion. Irithiel started to answer, but Grandma Margaret cut her off with a sharp look. "Not yet."
She scanned our faces then with a smile started;
"I know you're all curios and bursting with energy but there's just 2 things u should keep in mind while staying here "
No preamble. Just rules. Straight and fast.
" You are not allowed in the main town past seven. Daniel can stay—he works—but the rest of u need to be very careful, if you go out, you must be back before seven."
Aunt Serene nodded like a 7pm curfew made all the sense in the world,
"Also, under no circumstances whatsoever should u enter the forests, at all, especially past noon "
Margaret frowned. "But… the greenery! What's the point if I can't explore it?"
Grandma's tone softened. "For your own good. The forests are dangerous. Wild animals, hunting forbidden. Long ago, yes, but still—dangerous."
I snorted silently. Dangerous? That's not how forests work, I thought. At least not according to every adventure game and survival YouTuber ever. But I didn't say it. No need to air my superior knowledge to anyone here.
Martha, naturally, ignored that entirely. "Is there a library in town?" she asked Daniel.
"Yeah," he said calmly, "with books about the outside world. Some are a bit dated, but a lot are very detailed."
Serene leaned in, proud grin like she'd just delivered a TED Talk. "Little Martha is a science genius. Your dad is so proud of her. She's studying on a scholarship."
Grandparents nodded and praised her immediately.
I internally groaned. If only her personality wasn't trash, I could be happy for her. But you can't have it both ways. Life was cruelly efficient that way.
"And If anyone at all gives you anything while you're outside this house even if for me or you grandfather, do not under any circumstances open it or even glance at it until you're home."
Margaret asked, curious as ever, "Why?"
Grandpa John leaned back, exhaling. "Strangers. That's reason enough. Some things are best left unseen."
I filed that under clearly bullshit, but mentally noted that everyone except Daniel seemed to play along, nodding politely.
Rules set, finally, dinner began in earnest.
And I hate it, but…
It was the best food I'd ever tasted in my life.
The seasoning. The care. The way flavors were layered without apology. I made a mental note, slightly bitter: Mom could never pull this off. She'd ruin steak with soy sauce or whatever random thing she found in the fridge.
I frowned, fork halfway to my mouth. The incongruity was jarring. My summer sucked. The family rules were oppressive. Martha's smug little acts had already cost me dignity. And yet here I was, chewing slowly, realizing that yes, this meal… this was… good. Really good.
A small, helpless part of me wanted more.
I swallowed.
Ignored it.
Because admitting that would mean liking something about this place. And liking this place meant… hope.
Hope was the last thing I wanted right now.
---
Dinner ended, everyone retreated to their rooms, leaving the mansion oddly quiet. Too many rooms to count, though apparently Martha and Margaret had already convinced Aunt Serene I preferred the attic. Somehow, she'd fallen for it. Lucky me—solitude and dust, the perfect combination.
I went outside. Phone in hand, raising it like a desperate explorer waving a tattered map. Signal. Any signal. Even if my phone insisted "No Service," maybe somewhere, somewhere in this valley, there'd be a miracle. One bar. One WhatsApp ping. One meme to remind me I hadn't been abandoned by the outside world.
And that's when I saw him.
Daniel.
Swinging lightly on a contraption of tree bark and vines, back straight, expression calm, almost too calm. For a split second, I thought I saw the curve of something… unnatural. Pointed ears? No. Must be fatigue, lack of sleep, and some trick my brain had learned from too many biology videos. Still, there was something about him. Timeless, like he belonged to the forest more than this century.
He caught my gaze and smirked, faintly, before returning to his phone, frowning slightly, as if my presence was mildly amusing—but unworthy of real attention.
I played it cool. "Hey… uh… is there anywhere—even in town—where I could get cell service?"
Daniel's quiet chuckle made me feel absurd, like I'd asked a knight without training to slay an ancient dragon.
"Service?" he repeated, testing the word. Then, smooth and precise: "Cell service is… nonexistent in Mystic Falls. That's why the town relies on landlines and the mailing system."
I blinked. "Mailing system?"
"Used to be inefficient," he continued, calm, almost scholarly. "Until around 1760. Some man I happened to meet helped make it work properly."
"You… knew him?" I asked, suspicious.
Daniel laughed lightly, the kind that hinted at centuries of perspective. "No. Probably high," he said. But the laugh lingered, not mocking, almost… amused by mortal curiosity.
I frowned. "High?"
He shrugged, as if time itself didn't concern him. "Don't worry. Some say there's signal deep in the forest, near the river clearing. Might be true. Probably not."
I wanted to press him, demand details, but there was a weight in his calm presence that made me hesitate. Something in his posture, the way the shadows of the forest framed him, warned against foolishness.
"Go to bed soon," he added, rising from the swing. "Don't wander tonight."
And just like that, he disappeared inside, leaving me alone on the porch, phone still raised, frowning at the dark forest that seemed alive in its silence.
The trees whispered secrets I didn't want to hear.
The forest looked too quiet.
And for the first time today, I realized… this summer wasn't going to be boring.
Well that is if I successfully managed to find cell service at all.