Kennedy huffed as the group moved toward the cabin, she felt anxious about her plan. Her solution was in the cabin in front of her, and it was not a good time to have any doubts. She followed Martin into a gloomy space, trying to find the best answer for her grievance.

"It's freezing in here," Martin said, rubbing his palms.

"It's a cabin, what do you expect?" Kennedy responded, dragging her suitcase toward the brown leather couch. The luggage wheels bumped against the uneven wooden flooring, delivering hushed thuds as she walked further into the space.

"Heating system," Dylan answered, reaching the entrance of the house. He bent down just before passing the threshold.

The trio finally made it to the cabin. It's been ten years since the three of them shared a common space. They have been friends since childhood, but life got in the way and they all held in different places now, or so they thought.

Kennedy gathered the group for the weekend as soon as she got the news that Dylan came back to Alaska. The get-together seemed long overdue, but Kennedy had other plans than just catching up on the missed time.

The cabin stood deep in the Bear Valley and had minimalistic amenities, therefore the group had to prepare all necessities themselves. Dylan, of course, was not happy with Kennedy's choices for the meeting location, but as usual, Kennedy gets everything the way she wants.

"We will make fire," Kennedy said and motioned to the fireplace, letting go of the suitcase's plastic handle.

"This seems weirdly familiar," Dylan said, squinting his eyes. He stepped closer to the fireplace, the dust spread in the dim light as he tossed his duffle bag in the middle of the couch.

He stared at the golden framed painting of rye fields hanging attached to the bricked chimney. The color seemed to fade away, just one tawny streak appeared, more visible near the frame. The group stood in line, scanning the painting.

"It's because it's been here for ages," Kennedy explained, shifting her eyesight to her bag. Her heartbeats rose as she realized it will be harder than expected to manage all the secrets.

"It looks familiar to me too," Martin agreed. Kennedy glanced at him. "Reminds me of some of your past works," he applied to Kennedy. "But we've never been here before, right?"

"Not me," Dylan agreed.

Guys stared at Kennedy as she dragged her bag further toward the wooden railing of the stairs. She turned back to them, letting out a big gulp of air, trying to steady her heartbeats.

"Right," Kennedy said with a nod, tucking her loose blond hair behind her left ear. "We better start on that fire." She swiftly changed the subject, passing the guys. "You better start," She glanced over her shoulder. "I will get the food." She walked through the open doorway.

A chilly breeze ruffled her hair as she climbed down the porch stairs. She zipped her leather jacket and moved toward her car. Her Mercedes stood parked near a large oak tree. She took out bags from the trunk, hearing the guy's laughter echoing through the wooded space. She noticed their silhouettes on the porch. They already seemed suspicious of her, but her plan should work, she thought, carrying the bags inside.

"The firewood is there," Kennedy said and motioned with her chin to a small shed on the right side of the property.

"Need any help with the bags?" Martin asked, holding his brown eyes on the stuffed paper bags in Kennedy's arms.

"No, I'm good," she replied, clenching the bags tighter.

Guys nodded in response as Kennedy traveled inside the cabin. They stood in silence for a moment. Martin swiftly grabbed a copper-colored basket from the porch railing as Dylan followed Kennedy with his sight.

"Come on," Martin said, carrying the crate toward the shed.

Dylan nodded and followed his friend. The snow splashed under their boots as they traveled to the shed. Looking around the hut, Dylan noticed a thin chain hanging from the ceiling.

He pulled the string, and space gained some light. The building seemed stuffed with wood and useless items, an old chair with three legs held bent against the wall, and a few broken wooden crates near the small window, partially covering it. The guys stepped further through wooden scobs scattered on the ground, halting in front of the firewood line near the south wall.

"Did she tell you what is the point of this meeting?" Martin asked, placing the wood into the basket.

"Not exactly," Dylan responded, setting the log onto his right arm. "I'm assuming it's because I got back." Dust spread as he shook the log from wooden shavings.

"She is acting a bit strange," Martin replied, stuffing a trunk under the wooden handle of the crate.

"Not sure how to respond to that," Dylan said, picking thin sticks and placing them on top of the bigger logs in his embrace. "We are not exactly that close anymore, so not sure how weird her actions are." He turned toward the entrance.

"Running away does that," Martin mumbled, turning off the light in the shed and carrying the basket full of firewood.

"I didn't run," Dylan argued, glancing over his shoulder.

"Sure you didn't," Martin said sarcastically.

Dylan fastened his steps as the log weight felt heavy on his arms. And he felt unready to have the "running away" conversation yet again. Snow started to fall onto his brown hair and he shook his head to get away from the wetness. He thumbed his boots before stepping into the house. Soon he dropped the logs near the red-brick fireplace and squatted, placing the small twigs into the fireplace.

"I need a lighter," Dylan said and stretched out his hand as Martin reached him.

Martin settled the basket on the wooden floor and shook his head lightly. "I don't have it."

Dylan lifted his head, squinting his green eyes. "Did you quit smoking?"

"I sure did," Martin agreed with a nod, a vast smile adorned his face. "And look," he added, motioning to the fireplace railing. "We have matches."

"Wifey, made you quit?" Dylan asked, grabbing the matches.

"No one made me do anything," Martin answered, traveling toward a glass coffee table.

He picked up the old newspapers and stepped back near the fireplace. Dylan held a crooked smirk on his face as he took the papers. He stacked more wood and ignited the paper. Hushed fire crackling felt overshadowed by a whistling sound coming from the kitchen area.

"She is whistling," Martin said, widening his eyes.

"Maybe she is just happy," Dylan said and stood up, matching Martin's height.

"No," Martin replied, shaking his head. "Whistling means trouble," he added, rubbing the black bristles on his chin.

As the fire progressed, men shared knowing looks and moved toward the kitchen area. The cabin seemed wide, with a low ceiling. A cozy sitting area and a bar separate the kitchen from the rest of the space. Making the entire first floor one area.

Old paintings hung on the walls between the small windows. Even with all the lights working, the space still appeared dull. The warmth spread quickly as the heat flowed through the ventilating system. The swooshing sound felt less notable as the guys rested on the stools by the bar.

"Do you need any help?" Dylan asked, shaking water away from his black coat.

"I will manage," Kennedy said, chopping the last pieces of tomato. "Wash your hands."

"Right," Martin nodded. "So, K, what's up?" he asked and stared at her hands as she worked the knife with precision.

"What do you mean?" Kennedy questioned and dumped tomato pieces into a pot.

"Come on," Dylan said and stood up. "Suddenly you are eager to see us." He traveled toward the entrance door.

"I'm always happy to see you, and you're the one who ran away," she said and looked at Dylan as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Didn't run away," Dylan said and shook his head.

"Maybe I just want to reconnect," Kennedy explained. Martin raised his eyebrow at her remark. "Fine," she said, letting go of the knife, and bending her elbows on a red oak bar. "I need your help with something."

"And that would be?" Dylan asked, moving back to the bar.

"Tomorrow," she said, grabbing the cutting board. "I will tell you more tomorrow."

"Why not now?" Martin asked, unzipping his jacket.

"Tonight it's all about reconnecting."

"We can reconnect while you tell us the reason you dragged us here," Dylan said, sitting back on the stool.

"Fine," she said, tossing the plastic board to the sink. "We will take a hike."

"A hike?" Martin asked, raising his thick eyebrow.

"Yes," Kennedy replied, repelling her back to the kitchen cupboard.

"It's raining," Martin reminded them.

"It's snowing," Dylan said, looking at Martin.

"It's both," Kennedy intervened. "And the app said the sky will be clear tomorrow. And besides, Martin loves nature." She raised her eyebrow suggestively.

"Yeah, sure," Dylan agreed sarcastically. "Since when do you hike, anyway?" He scanned her.

"I don't." Kennedy took a pot with vegetables inside. "Just need to get to a place to find something," she explained, igniting the stove.

"Find what?" Martin asked.

"Yeah, what?" Dylan agreed, glancing at his friends.

She left the pot on the stove, adjusting the heat under the dish. Soon Kennedy came back to the bar. She sensed their sight following her every move, and it felt uncanny.

She pushed down the feelings and as usual faked calmness, adorning her face with a wide smile. Kennedy took out a piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans and unfolded the drawing, her heartbeats stayed faster, but her face remained serene.

"We will look for this," she explained, placing the drawing on the top of the bar.

The guys scanned the page. The drawing style felt familiar to both of them, as they knew Kennedy's drawing technique very well. The pencil sketch showed a chest. It seemed clear the design changed a few times, as parts of it seemed dirty. From the image, the box appeared wooden, with some metal fragments on the top.

"A box?" Dylan asked, squinting his eyes.

"A special box," Kennedy added, gripping a golden teal stone on her necklace.