It seemed like a late morning as Martin woke up. He remembered being woken in the middle of the night by a harsh wind and rain pouring on the metal roof. The day appeared much nicer as he looked at the unsealed window. He lifted the sheets, and his body developed goosebumps. Martin realized the cabin grew cold during the night. He put on the sweater and socks, staying in his pajama pants. Soon he left the room and traveled to the end of the corridor.

He used the bathroom and knocked on Dylan's room door. Martin planned to ask Dylan to help him with the fireplace. After three knocks, the doors still didn't open. Therefore, Martin opened them just to see an empty bed. Thinking that Dylan perhaps was already awake, Martin climbed downstairs.

The first floor appeared empty as Martin stood on the wooden stairs. The front door seemed locked, and the fireplace remained unlit. He bent down, seeing the empty kitchen area as well. Scratching his chin, Martin walked to the coat rack. He got dressed in a coat and put on his shoes.

It didn't take long for Martin to come back with firewood and light the fireplace. As the fire progressed, he moved to the kitchen and turned on the coffee machine. A slurping sound appeared as an old coffee maker poured the dark liquid into the pot. Meanwhile, Martin looked through the cupboard, finding cups. He soon inspected the fridge, sipping the coffee. Deciding he would make pancakes for breakfast, he took out the ingredients.

He baked the third batch of pancakes as the stairs squeaked. Martin flipped the pancakes, noticing Dylan near the bar. Dylan wore the same clothes as the day before. He seemed tired. Dark circles appeared under his eyes, and his hair looked disheveled.

"Smells good," Dylan said, sitting on the stool.

"Taste good too," Martin said, placing a plate with three pancakes on the bar. "Coffee?" he asked, glancing at Dylan.

"Sure," Dylan replied, cutting the pancakes with the fork.

"How did you sleep?" Martin asked, pouring coffee into a cup.

"Great," Dylan answered, biting the food.

"That's interesting," Martin said, placing a mug in front of Dylan. "Your bed was empty when I checked it." He raised his eyebrow, looking at Dylan.

Dylan's eyes widened, and he chewed food in slow bites. "I made the bed," he said.

"Cut the crap," Martin warned. "How stupid do you think I am?" he asked, Dylan, opened his mouth. "Don't answer," Martin added. "I know you and K have been hooking up for years. Don't see a point of hiding it, but it's none of my business."

"You said nothing," Dylan declared.

"Don't see the point. It's not like you two will be actually together," Martin replied.

"You never know," Dylan said, washing the food with the coffee.

Martin laughed, and Dylan furrowed his eyebrows. "Oh, come on," Martin said. "Don't look at me like that. You know she has major commitment issues. Who knows why, but she does have them."

"Okay," Dylan said with a nod.

Martin scanned his friend. He felt suspicious. Dylan gave up way too easily. Perhaps he changed, Martin wondered. Martin soon finished his coffee as Dylan continued with the meal. Martin dropped his mug into the sink and traveled to the living room, adding a few more logs to the fireplace.

"I'm going to get dressed," Martin said, looking at Dylan. "Finish breakfast and wake up, K," he added, stepping onto the stairs. "We need to move on that hike." He halted for a moment. "Did you ask about the hike?" he wondered, scratching his chin.

"Not, really," Dylan replied, chewing food.

"Right," Martin nodded. "Probably too busy," he mumbled and climbed upstairs.

Martin left Dylan downstairs and traveled to his room. He felt too drunk and too tired to take a shower the previous night, therefore he went to clean up. The door of Kennedy's room held open as he walked from the bathroom. He realized she must be awake.

He soon dressed and checked on Stacie. Everything at home seemed safe, and he relaxed, traveling downstairs. Dylan stood by the door, and Kennedy held in the kitchen as Martin reached the living room area.

"Can we know more about this hike now?" Martin asked, resting his hand on the bar.

"Good morning," Kennedy said, finishing the coffee. "We will go up the mountain," she added, traveling from the kitchen.

"Right," Martin agreed, following her to the door. "What is the point of this, K?"

Kennedy glanced at Dylan. "As I mentioned, we will look for the box," she said, putting on her shoes.

"Right," Martin agreed. "Look where?" he asked, picking up his coat from the sofa.

"The caves," Dylan replied, zipping his jacket.

Martin raised his eyebrow. "What caves?" he asked, looking at Dylan.

Dylan glanced at Kennedy. "Don't worry, Martin, it's a safe place," he explained.

"Right. Do we at least have some sort of plan, a map?" he asked, noticing his friend's exchanged unreadable looks.

"I know the place," Kennedy explained. "We better get going." She opened the door, letting a breeze pass them.

Martin felt like a third wheel, the sense wasn't new to him. Kennedy led the way as they walked from the cabin. She turned toward the wooden stairs and climbed toward the pathway between the pine trees. Guys followed her, the day seemed bright, and Martin felt eager to explore the forest. However, the lack of information on the hike still worried him.

He trusted his friends, but in case something would happen back at home, he wanted to know the route better. Kennedy led them through the forest. The air seemed pure, and there remained barely any snow on the path. The walk felt easy to Martin, although Dylan seemed out of breath soon after they left.

"You are out of shape," Martin said, noticing Dylan's wheezing breaths.

"True," Dylan agreed. "How long have you known?"

Martin lightly nodded. "Toward the end of the last school year," he explained. "You ran because of her. Didn't you?" He glanced at Dylan.

"Not, exactly," Dylan replied as they climbed upright up the hill. "What else I could've done? I was eighteen, my aunt died, and I couldn't stay."

"But you hooked up that summer?" Martin asked, glancing at Kennedy's back a few yards away.

"Fine," Dylan agreed. "We did, but there is way more to the story."

"We have time," Martin pointed out.

"Actually, we don't," Dylan said and stopped.

Martin shifted his eyesight from Dylan and looked into the view in front of him. They reached a field, and between tall pine trees was a hole. The mountain possessed a red-brown appearance. Bushes and small water ponds surrounded the space. As the men stood observing the view, Kennedy sprung toward the hill. Soon she disappeared into the cave.

"Come on," Dylan said, patting Martin's shoulder. "We have to go." He ran after Kennedy.

Martin didn't have time to reply. Moments passed, and Dylan held near the entrance. Martin didn't see any other choice but to follow his friends. Unlike both of them, he took his time to reach the cave. The space seemed dark, and a musty smell appeared as he stepped deeper. He couldn't detect his friends, realizing he didn't take any flashlight with him.

"Guys," Martin said, his voice echoing through the space.

The only sound he heard was the occasional crackles under his boots. After a few more steps, he noticed a flash of light pouring from the left side of the cave. He rushed to the source of the glimmer. Martin's eyebrows bounced up as he saw an alloy door in a cave wall. The gates held open, and the metal stairs led deeper under the cave. He heard murmurs downstairs, realizing his friends had most likely proceeded inside.

Martin hesitated for a moment, he possessed an irrational fear of confined space. And seeing the stairs leading underground caused his heartbeats to increase. He stepped on the stairs, they seemed rusty but held strongly. Martin climbed further down and soon reached a vast space. He felt unsure of the precise size of the basement. But it had shelves on every wall. The bookshelves stood until the metal ceiling, and they held countless strange items.

He soon spotted the source of the whispers as Kennedy and Dylan stood in the middle of the basement, near the red oak table. Kennedy flipped pages of the notebook and continued to talk with Dylan in a hushed tone.

"What the hell is this place?" Martin asked, still feeling shocked by the composition of the space.

"Don't touch anything," Kennedy warned him, lifting her eyes from the notebook, and staring at Martin.

Martin stepped closer to a bookshelf and looked up. "I'm asking again," he said, lowering his gaze. "What is this place?" He inspected items on the shelf. "And all these weird things." He picked up a small statue of a woman from a third ledge.

"Martin!" Dylan shouted, running toward his friend.

Martin barely heard Dylan's voice as his brown eyes turned glowing blue. He lost all control of his body and fell to the concrete floor. The statue from his hands fell and shattered to pieces.

He felt as if he watched a soundless movie, memories of his childhood appeared. The image of his father rose, he was showing Martin a big grimoire and explaining the family history. It seemed as if Martin was there and he wanted to talk with his father. But the scenes changed fastly as if switching between TV channels. And all that Martin felt was confusion.