The room was dim, lit only by a dozen flickering candles placed in a shaky circle around an old marking carved into the wooden floor. It didn't look fancy—just chalk lines, messy scribbles, some faded ink—but there was something weird about it. Something that made the air feel heavier than it should.
It wasn't a dungeon or some ancient temple.
It was a cabin.
Up in the mountains. Quiet. Cold. Supposed to be a chill spot for the weekend.
Seven of them were there. Friends. Sort of. Some were close. Some just knew someone who knew someone. Typical.
Not all of them were sitting near the mark.
A girl named Ivy was standing in the corner, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. She wasn't feeling it.
"This is dumb," she said.
The others barely looked at her. They were focused on the book—an old, dust-covered thing they'd found under a loose panel in the floor. Real dramatic stuff. Leather-bound, red pages, no title. Looked like something from a bad horror movie.
