The cold, darkened room holds no answers. My hands aren’t trembling as much anymore, but I feel like I’ve done a few rounds with a dragon. Or been in a bar fight with an ogre.
I can deal with pain. I always have and always will. But that’s familiar pain. It’s the pain I can—to some degree—adapt to and understand. This is too much. Too overwhelming. What’s almost as bad is that I’m bone tired. Tired enough that part of me wants to curl up and stay here, screw the consequences. It feels like my bones are made of titanium and my muscles have melted under the shock.
My burnt hand is still clawed and throbbing, and I cradle it close to me. I shouldn’t have come here. I should’ve accepted that my role in this group was done, and left this weekend for what it was.
Ever scoops up my crutches from the floor and hands them to me. “I don’t know what okay means either, but for what it’s worth—and I don’t know if it’s worth anything—I’m glad you’re here with me. I’d rather you weren’t. I’d rather you were safe. But selfishly, I’m glad.”
I don’t know how to respond to that.
They stand in front of me, our hands touching when I take one of the crutches. They hold my crutch—and my hand—a beat longer, so tight they could bruise me. They look me over, probably to make sure I’m okay. They’re close enough that I can feel their warm breath on my skin and the pounding of their heart through their fingertips.
Then, after what seems like an eternity and in the softest voice possible, they ask, “Do you think you were the next on the list?”
I open my mouth to answer when Maddy reappears at our side, juggling a wet cloth, a first aid kit, a box of matches, and a large bread knife. Her eyes are darting around the room. “I think we’re all on the list. It doesn’t matter who’s next,” she answers for me. “Give me your hand.”
She slips the knife into the back waistband of her pants and pushes the first aid kit at Ever. Then, with trembling fingers, she starts to wind the cloth around my hand. It’s cold to the point of freezing, and I shiver. It draws the pain from my palm and actually seems to stop the burning. It cools my head a little too.
“We should figure out bandages later, when we’re out of here,” Maddy whispers. “I’d rather not spend any more time here.”
“We have to wait until Finn—”
“I agree, we have to get out.” Ever’s and my words overlap. “The question is: How?” I grasp my crutch a little tighter and stare at the door. It’s still opening a smidge, and then closing again. Opening, closing. Desperate to be able to fall into the lock and secure the cabin. And it’s almost as if everything crackles with electricity.
A real-life magic ward that we can’t ward ourselves against.
“The windows, maybe?” Ever suggests.
Maddy has taken the first aid kit back and is rifling through it, as if she just needs something to occupy her. “The windows are reinforced. Pretty much everything in this cabin is. Liva”—her voice catches—“was afraid of bears. Or of the ghost stories. There is an override somewhere, if I’m not mistaken, but I don’t know where.” She finds a blister pack of pills and stares at it. It takes a moment or two before she speaks again. “We got stuck here once, two years ago. Didn’t she tell you? Liva didn’t want to wait until her father came up the mountain with one of their handymen to get us out of here—or maybe she didn’t want to face him. So she called Zac, and he hacked the system to get us out.”
I stare at Maddy, the words sending an uncomfortable tingle down my spine. Zac could hack the locking mechanism? Did he know we were here?
Ever sets their jaw. “What if we push something between the door? Like the sword, but firmer. Something that holds it open wide enough for us to dash through without touching the door or the frame.”
I take another step toward the door, still keeping a respectful distance. There’s a few inches between the door and the frame. “We could use my crutches,” I suggest softly. “The rubber tips should be enough insulation against the electricity from the ward. I think.”
Drawing in a sharp breath, I take a step forward and hold a crutch against the door. Ever gasps. Maddy drops the pack of pills. Underneath my crutch, I can almost feel the electricity crackle and reach out to me, like power building and waiting to snap. But—
Nothing.
I feel a little faint when I turn to Ev and Maddy. “I think that would work.”
Ever reaches out and punches my good arm. “Why did you try that? What is wrong with you?”
I grimace. “I figured we have to get out one way or another, and I’ve never really been good with not pursuing terrible ideas.”
That’s a lie. It’s only true in our game world. In this world, I’ve grown too careful. But it’s easier to say this than to tell them the truth: if we don’t do anything, we’re trapped. Getting shocked again would’ve been a simple price to pay.
I incline my head toward the door. “It’s heavy, though. We’re going to need pressure on it to keep it open wide enough, and probably from both sides, once one of us has managed push through. It’s going to take some coordinating to get all three of us through, one by one.”
Ever still holds one of the crutches and looks at it speculatively. “I can do that. I can wedge it open from here, and once one of you slips through, you can be the counterbalance on the other side.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure what the other options are. And this is worth a try, right?”
“You can do
