Page 8 of Marked

“No, no, it’s fine. Totally normal. Rich local family just happens to look after my mom’s old cottage. Probably out of the goodness of their hearts, right?” I started unpacking groceries, mainly to have something to do with my hands. “I’m sure there’s absolutely nothing weird about that at all.”

“Kai—”

“And I’m sure Karen was just being dramatic at the store. You know, with all that cryptic warning about the Stone brothers.” I shoved a package of cup noodles into a cabinet with perhaps more force than necessary. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re just my friendly neighborhood… whatever you are.”

His laugh was soft, almost sad. “You always this suspicious of people trying to help?”

“Only when they turn out to be part of the mysterious family my mom never mentioned despite them apparently being our property caretakers for years.” I turned to face him, crossing my arms. “Speaking of which, how much do I owe you for all that maintenance?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “It’s been… taken care of.”

“By whom? The cottage fairy? The maintenance gods? The Stone family foundation for suspiciously specific property care?”

His smile returned, genuine this time. “You’re kind of incredible, you know that?”

“And you’re changing the subject again.” But I felt my lips twitching despite myself. “Fine. Keep your secrets, Mr. Stone—”

“Caleb.”

“—but don’t think I’m not onto you.” I pointed an accusatory package of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos at him. “This whole small-town charm thing might work on everyone else, but I’ve got my eye on you.”

“I’m counting on it,” he murmured, so quietly I almost missed it. Then, louder, he added, “I’ll come by tomorrow morning to look at your car, if that works for you?”

“Yeah, that’s…” I swallowed, suddenly aware of how alone we were in this big old house. “That’s perfect. Though I should warn you, my car maintenance knowledge starts and ends with ‘put gas in when empty.’”

His laugh echoed in the kitchen, bouncing off walls that seemed to remember other laughs, other voices. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle the complicated stuff. Around nine?”

“Sure. I’ll try to have all my conspiracy theories organized by then.”

Something flickered in his eyes—amusement? Concern? Both?—before he headed for the door. “Get some rest, Kai. And…” He hesitated. “Try not to overthink everything?”

“Have youmetme?”

His answering smile stayed with me as he headed out into the night. After the door clicked shut, the cottage seemed to exhale around me, settling into a silence that felt both empty and expectant. Like it was waiting for something. Or someone.

“Right,” I announced to the quiet kitchen. “Let’s see what other surprises you’re hiding.”

First priority: testing the utilities. I hadn’t expected anything to work, figuring I’d be roughing it until I could call… someone. But when I flipped the kitchen tap, it sputtered and coughed before producing clear water.

“Huh.” I watched the stream, mesmerized. “Guess the Stones really did maintain everything.”

The pipes made that familiar gurgling sound—they always do that, honey, just ignore it—and I jerked my hand back like the memory had burned me.

Amazingly, when I plugged in the ancient fridge, it hummed to life with only minimal protest. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” I muttered, wiping dust from its surface. “Guess I could’ve bought perishables after all.”

I started putting away my groceries, my hands automatically reaching for certain shelves before I could think about it. Cups and plates in the cabinet by the sink. Ramen and dried goods in the pantry where Mom used to—

I froze, one hand on the pantry door.The fancy tea tin. Top shelf.

Sure enough, there it was. Different tin, obviously, but same spot. Same purpose? I reached up, fingers brushing metal. Empty now, of course. No emergency chocolate stash after all these years.

“This is getting weird,” I told the tin. “Like, horror movie prequel weird.”

Upstairs beckoned, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for that yet. Instead, I tested more lights—all working—checked more taps—all functional—and tried very hard not to think about how everything felt simultaneously foreign and familiar.

The living room windows still had those weird latches that always stuck in humid weather. The third step from the bottom still creaked when you stepped on its left side. The back door still had that slight gap at the bottom where cold air would—

“Nope,” I said aloud, cutting off that train of thought. “We’re not doing this tonight. Tonight is for surviving on ramen and pretending everything is totally normal.”

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