Page 114 of The Lodge

ALIX YOU HAVE TO GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW, she writes.

My skin prickles.Are you okay??I reply.

I’m fine. Just get down here

And then she sends a link, no context, to a Dewdrops post.

I click through.

To the untrained eye, the photo might look like it came straight from one of those public domain websites: the snowcapped mountain would make the perfect desktop wallpaper or a great addition to one of those moody aesthetics people post about their favorite books and films.

But I know better. It’s not justanymountain—and it’s not just some generic postcard view from the valley below.

This photo was taken from the lookout.Tyler’slookout.

I glance at the username—u/Jettsetter—and everything falls into place. The most recent post before this one is from eight years ago, the night of Tyler’s disappearance.

Beneath the snowy mountainscape, there’s a simple caption:Took some time to clear my head. See you again soon, world. Xoxo

My heart leaps to my throat. What time did he post this? Six and a half minutes ago, according to the time stamp. He does have his phone. Did he see my message? I tap over, see a littlereadnotification under my text where before it only saiddelivered.

This can’t mean what I think it does. Right?

The briefest search—Jett Beckett mountain picture Vermont—yields a handful of fresh image results: from what I can tell, all theguests who were hoping to spot Jett at the café are now migrating toward the base of the mountain where the gondola lets out.

Everyone wants to be the first to snap a shot of him.

Everyone wants to confirm the rumors.

Surely Tyler wouldn’t resurface likethis, would he? Knowing full well there will be people awaiting him at the bottom of the lift? Then again, the fact that he’s posted online at all from his long-dormant account proves anything is possible.

If I’m right—if Tyler is heading down the mountain as we speak, working up the nerve to show his beautiful face on his own terms for the first time since his disappearance—then I have to get down there as soon as I possibly can.

It’s mercifully quiet outside my building, but the ski village is even busier than I expected. There’s a group making its way down the path that leads to the lifts; I follow, keeping my head down, doing my best to not call attention to myself. The closer we get to the base of the mountain, the thicker the crowd gets, countless smartphone cameras poised and ready.

Lauren stands out in her hot-pink puffer coat. She spots me immediately, waves me over.

“The ski lift started up a few minutes ago,” she says, “so everyone’s convinced he’s on his way down.”

Sure enough, the gondolas are in motion. The lift tech powered everything down before we left earlier, and since the slopes are all closed for the day, I can see why this has caught everyone’s attention, especially given Tyler’s social media post.

The WJKS news crew members have their cameras trained on the gondola cars, looking out for any sign of him. If he’s still in the jacket with the oversized hood—and he’d have to be, right?—they might not be able to see much.

Soon, though, a flurry of excitement ripples through the crowd.More and more people pull out their phones, as if we’re about to witness a moment that will go down in pop culture history. And maybe we are—but Lauren and I are in the minority, neither of us even attempting to capture the moment.

I just want to see it with my own eyes.

I want to seehimwith my own eyes.

I don’t truly believe it’s happening until the gondola doors open and he steps out.

Time slows as he lowers his thick, black hood. He pulls off his knit hat, too, shaking out the wavy hair that no one but me currently associates with him—everyone else is used to the bleached-blond highlights of eight years ago, no doubt, short and spiky and gelled within an inch of its life.

Whispers build to murmurs, everyone frozen and unsure what to make of Jett Beckett 2.0. They watch as he scans the crowd. He’s nervous—I can tell by his tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

As soon as he spots me, though, he relaxes, his eyes lighting up. A handful of people glance over their shoulders, trying to figure out what—who—he’s seen.

Before they turn their full attention my way, though, Tyler clears his throat. The whispers fall silent.

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