The shower had done little more than drag Katryna back into her own body. Heat had soaked into the ache of her shoulders and thighs until the trembling there became something duller, more manageable, but exhaustion still clung stubbornly to her bones like wet wool. She stepped out into the warm quiet of her cabin with damp hair curling down her back and a towel looped around her shoulders, and for the first time since arriving, she actually looked at the place she’d been dropped into. It was less cabin and more some absurdly beautiful woodland condo, all clean lines and pale wood and soft light spilling through towering triangular windows that turned the whole space golden. The main floor opened wide around her in one long, serene breath, kitchen flowing into dining, dining melting into the living room, every corner polished and warm and far too elegant for the sort of camp where people apparently nearly died on rope ladders for fun.
She moved through it slowly, half expecting the illusion to break if she touched anything too hard. The kitchen was all sleek surfaces and quiet luxury, pale countertops and dark accents, stocked with the kind of care that felt almost invasive in its thoroughness. Beyond it, the living room was anchored by a low couch facing a dark fireplace that looked modern and sculptural, more art piece than necessity, though the fire Kacper had started before leaving made it immediately feel like the heart of the space. Upstairs was even worse in the most offensive possible way, beautiful in that way that made her narrow her eyes at the gods and all their stupidly curated generosity. The loft came first, tucked along the way like a secret little perch, with a sofa positioned to overlook both the soaring windows and the room below, the whole thing wrapped in pale afternoon light like it belonged in a magazine instead of a demigod camp in the middle of the woods.
The bedroom beyond it was quiet and airy, centered around a king-sized bed that looked so plush and inviting she nearly groaned out loud. The walls angled inward with the A-frame shape of the cabin, warm wood and cream tones turning the whole room into something soft and restful despite the sharp geometry. The bathroom attached to it was even more egregious. A massive walk-in shower sat like some spa fantasy made real, all green tile and glass and steam still clinging to the mirror, while a freestanding bathtub waited nearby like it expected candles and poetry and emotional breakdowns.
Off to the side, a closet connected neatly to the bathroom, and she found the dresser there, thankfully practical, because unlike Kacper she did not derive spiritual peace from color-coding her underwear. She unpacked in a way that made sense to her, folding most of her clothes into the drawers with enough care to keep them from wrinkling, then promptly dumping the things that needed hanging into a growing pile on the chair in the corner. Problem for later. Preferably much later.
Once she’d done enough to make the place feel marginally less temporary, Katryna carried the few things that mattered most back downstairs. She had only brought three photos. One was old enough that it looked almost unreal now—her and Kacper as newborns in the hospital, tiny and red-faced and furious at being brought into the world. The other two were from the life that came after, a blurry little selfie Kacper had taken in a library when she and their adopted father had been too busy looking at the same book to notice him, and a Christmas morning photo with all three of them in matching pajamas, paper torn open around them and happiness so bright it almost hurt to look at. She hung them carefully on the wall, slower than she needed to, fingertips lingering on the frames in a way that made her chest ache with something warm and old and deeply beloved. After that she wandered back into the kitchen, only to discover the fridge and cupboards were stocked enough to suggest someone had done their homework. “Creepy,” she muttered to herself, but the complaint lacked real bite.
She meant to leave after that. She really did. Instead, she sank onto the couch in front of the fire with a long sigh that seemed to empty her from the inside out. The heat curled around her instantly, soft and drowsy and far too inviting, and after feeding a few more logs into the flames she let herself lean back just for a moment. Just until her muscles stopped whining. Just until her eyelids stopped feeling so impossibly heavy. Sleep took her without ceremony, a quiet slide into darkness so complete it felt almost holy. No dreams. No nightmares. No phantom hands or sharp memories or the awful feeling of falling. Just the simple, blissful mercy of nothing at all.
When Katryna woke, it was with that strange, disoriented heaviness that only came from an accidental nap taken too hard. The fire had burned low to a dim orange glow, and light slanted across the floor in a softer, later shade than before, telling her enough time had passed to be irritating. She dragged herself upright with a groan, rubbing at one eye before blinking down at herself. An oversized chocolate brown hoodie swallowing her frame, black leggings, and white socks patterned with tiny brown teddy bears that peeked up over her ankles in a way she would deny under oath if questioned. She considered changing. She even looked toward the stairs like maybe she’d make an effort. But the thought of pulling on anything more presentable than exhaustion made her want to lie back down and become part of the couch forever. “Absolutely not,” she muttered, voice scratchy with sleep as she shoved her feet into her snow boots and headed out the door.
The cold hit like a slap. It cut through the lingering warmth of the cabin and found every ache the obstacle course had left behind, sinking into her knees and shoulders and the tender places between muscle and bone. Snow crunched under her boots in that dry, brittle way that made the world feel sharper somehow, and she hunched deeper into her hoodie as she trudged toward Kacper’s cabin. It was mercifully close, because by the time she was halfway there she was already regretting every choice that had led to this moment. She remembered, belatedly, that she probably should have fed more wood into the fire before leaving so her own cabin wouldn’t feel like a tomb when she got back, but the thought of turning around was immediately dismissed on the grounds of being far too much effort. “Future me can suffer,” she grumbled to no one, breath fogging in front of her like a tiny ghost.
As she neared the steps, the smell hit her first. Smoky and rich and maddeningly good, enough to make her stomach twist with sudden hunger. Then came the sound of laughter, soft and easy in the cold air, and she slowed on instinct. From the porch she caught sight of them.
Kacper, entirely too smug and entirely too pleased with himself, apparently demonstrating to Sloane how to sauce the ribs like this was some kind of domestic cooking show; and Sloane beside him, warm-faced in the fading light, the scene around them so casually intimate it made Katryna squint with immediate suspicion. Gods, he was going to steal my only friend. The betrayal was swift and profound and only about ten percent real. She trudged up the last few steps with the air of someone arriving at the site of her own emotional mugging, eyes dropping to the ribs with naked longing. “Those smell amazing,” she sighed, all but mournful with want, before lifting her gaze to offer Sloane a bright, tired smile that was softer around the edges than the rest of her. “He’s a good cook, but he likes to experiment, so always ask him what it is before you agree to eat.”
Sloane had unintentionally gravitated closer to Kacper the longer they were out on the porch, seeking the warmth of his presence and the grill to keep the bite of winter at bay. Her hand protectively curled over Onyx’s head to keep the chill from whipping across his nose or ears while her attention was split between the hunger inducing ribs and Kacper’s animated explanations, like he was giving her a class and fully expected her to go home and practice. Not happening. She couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, wondering if that was what she looked like when she talked about her favorite books.
Even as he continued to ramble on, it brought a familiar sort of comfort that slowly eased the anxiety that had tightened across her shoulders. For a brief moment it reminded her of when she was younger and she’d do her homework at the kitchen counter while their private chef, Darya, made dinner and sang along with the radio. Sloane never had an interest in cooking, but something about the smell of the food cooking and the rhythmic sounds that came from its preparation reminded her of what home was supposed to feel like. Quiet, warm, and peaceful. It was small fragments like that she treasured, even when they became overshadowed by her brother.
A soft voice coming from the far edge of the porch pulled her attention from the grill as she looked over to find Katryna slowly approaching. Sloane’s smile grew slightly, soft and warm, raising her hand that protected the small kitten in her arms to wave toward her. "Better than the sandwiches I brought," she lamented with a quiet, awkward laugh. "I made the mistake of telling your brother I grew up with a private chef." She gave Kacper a sidelong glance before pivoting slightly to face Kat. As she moved her shoulder accidentally brushed his, unaware until that moment how close they actually stood. "I think it’s his new personal goal to prove he’s better." She shrugged her shoulders as if she was already conceding. "Luckily I don’t have any food allergies. So he’ll have to try a little harder if he wants to kill me."
Katryna’s grin came easy at Sloane’s explanation, brightening her tired face in a way that made her look softer and younger despite the exhaustion still dragging at the corners of her eyes. It was the kind of expression that carried no surprise at all, only the resigned fondness of someone who had been dealing with Kacper’s particular flavor of insufferable confidence for her entire life. Her gaze flicked once toward her brother, already fully prepared for whatever ridiculous rebuttal was coming, and sure enough it arrived before she could even get the words out.
“Sounds about right, I’d expect nothing less from him—”
“I am better,” Kacper cut in immediately, tone thick with offended dignity, as if the matter were so objectively true it barely merited discussion.
The timing of it, so perfectly overlapping, so instinctive, made Katryna roll her eyes with the long-suffering expertise of someone who had endured this exact sort of interruption in seventeen different contexts over the years. Kacper, for his part, looked entirely unashamed, standing there with one hand still hovering near the grill like a man defending both his honor and his ribs in the same breath. The winter air curled around all three of them in white little plumes, the smell of smoke and caramelizing barbecue thick and rich enough to almost make the cold worth tolerating. Sloane’s shoulder brushing his had not gone entirely unnoticed by him, though he did a decent job of pretending otherwise; still, there was a subtle shift in the line of his mouth, a private sort of pleased that he kept tucked behind the easier rhythm of the conversation.
Kat, mercifully, spared him the satisfaction of lingering on it. She angled her attention back toward Sloane with the ease of someone making a point of drawing another person into the fold, not merely orbiting the gravitational pull of her brother’s personality. Her boots thudded softly against the porch as she moved toward the door, shoulders hunched deeper into her oversized hoodie against the cold.
“Yeah, well, at least you thought to bring something,” she said, voice dry with sleepy humor. “I very nearly didn’t even bring myself.”
There was a dramatic little sigh that followed, as if the effort of having shown up deserved some kind of medal.
"I can relate," Sloane confessed with a weak laugh. Her gaze traitorously flicked over toward Kacper for a beat, like a secret admission that only he knew the true meaning behind. Then her attention returned to Kat with a warm smile and a small guilty shrug. "Rocco and I may or may not have taken an accidental nap before I made my way over." She looked over at the window alongside the door where the culprit waited impatiently, leaving behind nose print smudges along the glass. "It’s hard not to fall asleep when something cute and fluffy insists on cuddling." As she spoke, her index finger traced a gentle line up Onyx’s nose, along his head, and down his back.
“Yeah, it was hard to leave the warm comfort of my cabin for the cruel, cold world outside it…” she continued, but her smile had widened with Sloane’s words, one hand lifting in vague accusation toward the snowy woods and the general concept of winter itself. Then her mouth tipped into a softer, more genuine smile as she glanced back over her shoulder at Sloane. “But I was hungry, and I knew you’d be here.”
It was said simply, almost lazily, but it landed with the unmistakable warmth of inclusion. No fanfare. No awkwardness. Just the quiet, easy implication that of course Sloane was part of the reason she’d come. Katryna reached the door and pulled it open, and immediately a wash of warmer air spilled out from the cabin, carrying with it the faint scent of woodsmoke and clean linen. Through the side window beside the frame, Opal and Rocco could be seen peering out with shameless curiosity, faces pressed near the glass like they had been waiting impatiently for the humans to stop lingering in the cold.
“Makes up for having to put up with him for a bit longer today, I suppose.”
Kacper made a noise of immediate outrage, low and scoffing and entirely too theatrical to be taken seriously. He shot his sister a look that promised future retaliation, then turned instead to Sloane as if appealing to a far more reasonable judge. His lower lip tipped into the faintest pout, just enough to be obnoxious about it.
“I am a delight,” he informed her with all the solemn conviction of a man making a legally binding statement.
There was no missing the spark in his eyes when he said it, the playful challenge there, the way he seemed to instinctively reach for humor whenever the atmosphere got too soft for his own comfort. Still, beneath the mock offense and the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, something in him remained attentive, quietly tuned to Sloane, to whether she was still smiling, still warm enough, still standing close instead of retreating. He lowered the lid of the grill then, and the sleek metal shut with a soft clink that was immediately followed by the rich, mouthwatering hiss of sauce blistering over meat.
Sloane couldn’t fight the soft laugh that slipped free as her gaze drifted back and forth between the siblings. Her attention lingered on Kacper for a fraction of a send longer, brows raising at the sight of his dramatic pout. But beneath it she could see small glimpses of his concern that still hovered around the edges, like he was more attentive to every emotion that crossed her face or what her body language said that she didn’t. It was like being seen when she had worked hard to be invisible. She didn’t know what to make of it, so rather than trying to understand it, she did her best to ignore it.
"He’s not so bad," Sloane admitted, letting her gaze linger on his for a beat before looking back over toward Kat and giving a small shrug. "Except for when he makes me stand out in the cold while he lectures me on cooking," she teased with a light air that subtly betrayed her words with a quiet comfort that said she truly didn’t mind, and maybe in some weird way kind of enjoyed it… besides the standing outside in the middle of winter without a coat or shoes part.
“Just a few more minutes,” he said, glancing from the grill back to Sloane with that familiar crooked smile of his, less sharp now than it had been when they first met, easier somehow, worn in at the edges. Her words, "He’s not so bad," made his chest tighten in a way that was a little concerning, heartburn maybe. The dimming light caught the planes of his face and the slight pink of cold in his cheeks, and for a fleeting second he looked almost unfairly at home in the moment. He jerked his head toward the open door, toward the spill of golden warmth and waiting animals inside.
“Let’s get out of the cold,” he added, voice gentling without losing its teasing lilt. “I can give you the tour.”
"Yes, please," Sloane replied with a sigh of relief that was like its own quiet plea. Without wasting anymore time standing around in the cold, she scurried across the deck and in through the door that Kat had still held open. She hadn’t even realized how cold her feet got until they settled on the warm cabin floor which almost felt scalding from the stark difference in temperature. Onyx’s head popped up from beneath her fluffy sweater at the new wave of warmth, looking around with squinty, groggy eyes like he had been woken from the deepest sleep.
Sloane lingered near the kitchen island, leaning slightly against the counter as she waited. Her gaze lazily scanned the cabin, taking it in a little more accurately now that some of the anxieties that had plagued her mind had quieted, at least for the time being. It was sizable, or at least larger than her own one roomed cabin. It didn’t seem big enough to warrant a proper ‘tour’. She didn’t imagine there was much more to it besides his bedroom and a bathroom, but maybe it was his own way at trying to make her feel more comfortable, or just show off how excited he was. Either way, she wasn’t going to deny him the opportunity.
The second Sloane slipped inside, Kacper pulled the door shut behind them with a firm click that sealed out the winter in one decisive motion. The cabin seemed to sigh around them, all warmth and amber light and the low, steady crackle of the fire filling in the spaces the cold had left behind. Onyx, who had apparently decided Sloane’s sweater was both fortress and birthright, made no move to escape her arms. Across the room, Katryna was already peeling away from them entirely, drawn toward Rocco like a woman spotting salvation after a long, difficult pilgrimage. She dropped into a crouch without a shred of dignity, hands outstretched as the dog bounded toward her, tail wagging so hard his entire back end swayed with it.
“Ohhh, look at you,” she cooed, voice going syrup soft in the way it only ever did for animals or children, or if she was mocking her brother. “You’re the most handsome boy in the whole world, yes you are. The most handsome.”
At that, Onyx’s ears flicked in visible offense from where he peered out from the burgundy fluff of Sloane’s sweater, as if he understood the betrayal on a spiritual level. Opal, meanwhile, materialized at Katryna’s ankles like a little white ghost and immediately began weaving around her legs in determined circles, purring loud enough to rival the fire. Kacper snorted under his breath at the entire scene, shaking his head with the long suffering fondness of someone who had watched his sister become completely useless in the face of a cute animal more times than he could count. For a brief second he let himself just look at Kat half-curled on the floor with Rocco and Opal swarming her, at Sloane leaning against the island with Onyx tucked against her like he belonged there, at the soft golden hush of the cabin holding all of them in place. It struck him with an odd, sharp sort of warmth how quickly this had begun to resemble something almost domestic, something easy. Dangerous thoughts. Best ignored.
“Alright,” he said, rolling his shoulders as if he were about to conduct some grand architectural showcase rather than lead her through what was, admittedly, not a mansion. “Official tour.”
He started with the obvious, because he was annoyingly thorough even when showing off. One hand swept lazily toward the main room as he walked her through it, all the confidence of a man presenting a masterpiece.
“Living room,” he announced, gesturing toward the couch and the fireplace like it was a revolutionary design. “Very important. Fire. Couch. Strategic seating arrangement for maximum comfort.”
His mouth tipped into a smirk before he pivoted and pointed toward the kitchen.
“Kitchen, obviously. The true heart of the cabin, because unlike some people here…” he shot a glance in Kat’s direction, who was currently letting Rocco lick her hand while Opal tried to climb her shin, “…I am talented.”
Sloane’s brows rose with an incredulous scoff as her attention jumped over to Kat before looking back at her tour guide. "I resent that," she commiserated, noting her own lack of culinary skill alongside Kat.
Katryna, without even looking up, lifted a single finger in his direction.
“You’re loud, not talented.”
Kacper ignored them both with the dignity of a man who had survived far worse slander and push back. He guided Sloane through the small main floor with easy confidence, his pace unhurried enough that she could take everything in without feeling like she was being dragged from one point to the next. There was a quiet attentiveness in the way he moved, subtle but present, always half-aware of where she was behind him, whether she was still following, whether Onyx was settled, whether the warmth had finally sunk into her bones. When he led her into the bedroom, his tone shifted just slightly, less performative now, touched with a private sort of satisfaction that he seemed almost embarrassed to have. It was a good room, cozy in the way his whole cabin was cozy, with a bed big enough for two people to comfortably sprawl in, a dresser already filled, and the sort of lived in order that spoke of Kacper having settled into the place faster than he probably wanted to admit.
“Bedroom,” he said, one shoulder lifting in a casual shrug that failed to disguise the little note of pride underneath. “Nothing too dramatic. Bed. Dresser. Very handsome owner.”
Sloane slowly trailed after him, feet softly thudding against the warm wooden floor as she attentively took in her surroundings as she walked. She nodded, acknowledging everything he pointed out matter-of-factly. Her head continued to bob along when his presentation shifted from the contents of his room to a compliment directed at himself. It took a second for her to register the slight shift, but when she did her head immediately stopped, gaze snapping back to him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "You sure there’s enough room in your bed—" she paused, smirk curling mischievously as she lifted her hand from Onyx to lazily point it at the furniture in question, "—for you and your ego?"
Kacper’s lips twitched up into a pleased grin at that, as if the banter at his expense was something he deeply enjoyed, but he didn’t give her too long to mock him for that before leading her into the connected bathroom, where the warmth was somehow even more pronounced, the tile and fixtures catching the low light in soft gleams. It was nicer than any camp bathroom had any right to be, clean lines, plenty of space, polished counters, the sort of place that felt less like a necessity and more like a deliberate indulgence. But then he was already crossing to the side door, hand on the handle, expression shifting into something almost eager.
“Wouldn’t you like to know. he teased brightly. “Okay, this is the good part.” He opened the door and led her through to the outdoor shower.
The space beyond felt hidden and oddly luxurious, enclosed by high cedar walls that gave privacy without stealing away the sky entirely. Cold winter air kissed at the open top of the space, but the shower itself was clearly built to make the seasons irrelevant. It was massive, far larger than any shower needed to be, big enough for several people with room to spare, with a bench running along one wall and little built-in shelves tucked neatly beneath the shower head. The stone floor beneath their feet held a faint warmth, and Kacper stepped forward like a man unveiling his greatest treasure.
“I wasn’t sure if I’d like it,” he admitted, gaze lifting briefly to the cedar walls and the slice of pale winter sky visible above. “But look.” He pointed to the sleek control panel on the wall, already poking at it with the delight of someone who had clearly tested every feature at least twice.
“This heats the whole shower,” he explained, flicking through settings with a seriousness that bordered on reverent. “The floor is heated too, which is honestly kind of life-changing.”
A few more taps and suddenly the panel glowed with options he was far too pleased about. LED settings bloomed across the display, and within seconds a strip of hidden light shifted from soft gold to blue, then pink, then some vaguely dramatic purple.
“And apparently,” he said, mouth quirking as he cycled through them, “I can make it look like a nightclub if I ever completely lose my mind.” The smug little glance he shot her made it obvious he considered this an asset rather than a warning sign.
Sloane lingered near the door, unable to muffle her soft laugh at the sight of his unbridled delight at something as simple as a shower. The second Kacper went to press a button on the control panel, she quickly stepped backwards into the doorway, making sure to be out of range of any stray bursts of water or other trickery he might have up his sleeve. When it seemed like she might be in the clear, her head poked around the wall, but she didn’t dare to set foot back into the shower. Bright lights hidden along the ceiling and floor oscillated through every color of the rainbow, painting the side of Kacper’s face in vibrant blues, pinks, and greens. She chuckled at his amused grin as they were bathed in obnoxious strobing lights.
"Mmm… I don’t know," she mused looking between him and the strange control panel. "I don’t see any speakers. Can’t have a nightclub without music." Sloane shook her head, brunette hair bouncing along her shoulders and sweeping along her cheek as her lips scrunched into a lopsided smile.
Kacper’s mouth pulled into that ridiculous little pout again, exaggerated just enough to make it obvious he was performing his offense for her benefit, though the flash of color rolling over his face in obnoxious blues and pinks only made the whole thing more absurd. One hand lifted to his chest as if she had truly wounded him, as if her careful retreat to the doorway had struck at the very core of his honor. The sight of her peeking around the wall, all caution and amusement and that lopsided little smile, made something warm and annoyingly fond unfurl low in him despite himself. “No trust, my fair lady?” he sighed dramatically, voice full of wounded theatrics. “I’d never play such a cruel trick on you.” He tapped the panel once more just to prove he could, the lights shifting again in a wash of green, and his smirk sharpened. “On my sister? Absolutely.”
From somewhere back inside the cabin, Katryna’s voice carried with immediate, venomously affectionate precision— “Jackass!” —and Kacper didn’t so much as blink.
“But not you.”
"Hmm," Sloane mused, brows furrowing, not entirely convinced. "I don’t know if I believe you," she added with squinted eyes and a playful jab of her index finger against his chest.
When he finally dragged himself away from his beloved absurdly overengineered shower, he led her back through the bathroom and out through the main room again, passing Katryna, who had since migrated to the couch with Rocco draped half across her lap and Opal perched beside her like a tiny queen. Onyx, upon being carried past, narrowed his eyes at the display with what looked suspiciously like judgment. The patio doors opened with another rush of cold, but the space beyond was more sheltered than the front porch, the deck stretching out into the quiet woods with a hot tub tucked neatly to one side like a secret reward, away from any prying eyes. They could even see some of the lake through the trees. Steam rose faintly when Kacper lifted the cover just enough to peek inside, the clear water below catching the fading light in soft ripples. He held it there for a second, looking almost too pleased with himself before glancing sideways at Sloane.
“I hope you have a swimsuit,” he said lightly, tone casual in the way that suggested he knew exactly how the suggestion sounded and chose it anyway. “It’ll be great for sore muscles.” Then, perhaps wisely, he let the cover fall back into place.
Initially, Sloane’s brows rose curiously at the sight of the hot tub. While it wasn't entirely surprising, they were children of Gods after all, but she still hadn’t seen anyone with their own private hot tub or pool… Not that she had been to many cabins. She couldn’t deny that the wave of heat that poured out of the small crack from the lifted cover felt enticing. If she hadn’t agreed to be there she would have likely disappeared into a steaming bath of her own but—her brain stalled when his words finally found her through the warmth that stole her attention. Her gaze snapped to Kacper before she could think not to. A redness settled across her cheeks that wasn’t from the cold or the kiss of warmth from the hot tub before it shut away.
"I… Well, yeah I do," she answered quietly, unable to think of a more succinct response before the words tumbled out. Sloane couldn’t very well go to camp and not pack one, but she couldn’t recall ever actually wearing it since she arrived either. There was a small probability she might have once, but with the fresh scars that marred half of her back and one of her legs… the possibility was significantly less so. "But I didn’t bring it… it’s winter," she added quickly, grounding herself in the gentle rise and fall of Onyx’s breaths beneath her hands.
Kacper caught the way her gaze snapped to him, the way that flush rose soft and sudden across her cheeks, and for one dangerous second he had to pretend he hadn’t noticed just how unfairly endearing it was. So he did the only sensible thing and tilted his head as though he were genuinely, seriously weighing the logistics of her argument rather than the fact that his own words had clearly rattled her a little. The winter air still clung to them both, sharp at the edges, but the faint heat that had escaped the hot tub lingered like a temptation between them. “Winter is one of the best times to use a hot tub,” he said, and for once there was no teasing in it at first, just that earnest, mildly offended certainty of someone who believed this deeply enough to defend it in court. Then his mouth softened into something smaller, less smug, and he gave one easy shrug like he wasn’t going to push. “But… if you change your mind,” he added, voice quieter now, lighter in a way that still felt deliberate, “it could be just us.”
She supposed he wasn’t entirely wrong. A hot tub sounded far better when it was cold outside versus sitting in hot water in the heat of summer. Even if the logic was sound, her brain still stumbled to catch up. Sloane parted her lips to respond, but before she could speak, Kacper’s following comment filled the silence. His words were disarmingly soft, yet intentional, like the whisper of a flirt he chose to set gently into the space between them. It caught her off guard, leaving her stunned with her mouth slightly agape, frozen from where she tried to talk but fell short. She knew he couldn’t be serious or likely meant it as friends, an olive branch of… something, like their earlier conversation. But there was still something about it that stirred strangely warm beneath her ribs that she couldn’t quite explain. She cleared her throat, gaze fixed on the hot tub before drifting over toward the snow that fell beyond the porch’s awning. "I don’t think your sister would like that," she replied quietly, little more than a whisper. It wasn’t a good answer. It deflected her thoughts, feelings, and the weight of the silence between them, rather than acknowledge it. But it was the best she could muster.
“All the more reason to,” he snorted, shaking his head at that. “Honestly, all that matters is how you feel about it, Sloane…” He held her gaze for a moment, brief and searching, but not pushing.
Sloane drew in a slow measured breath, unable to meet his gaze as her free hand fell to rest on the edge of the hot tub. Her thumb lightly tapped against the cool edge like a metronome as her thoughts threatened to spiral down the same slope they slipped down earlier. The thought of spending time alone with Kacper—in or out of the hot tub—made something twist in her stomach like the sensation of going over the hill on a rollercoaster or spinning in circles too long. It was part nausea and part… something else she couldn’t name. But no matter how she felt about it, she couldn’t. She was already pushing her luck by selfishly allowing herself to have his friendship, and Kat’s. There was no way she’d even dare to let herself humor anything more like she had with Liam. These friendships were already a risk, anything else would be reckless.
She slowly looked up at him, shaking her head slowly as the phantom of her fear tugged at the corner of her lips and stole the faint glimmer from behind her eyes. "I… I can’t," Sloane replied quietly, her words lost beneath the biting wind that swept past them. She didn’t linger. She couldn’t. Her gaze fell and she pushed off the hot tub, making sure not to brush against him as she moved past and slipped back inside before the conversation could fall into dangerous territory a second time.
Kacper stood there for a beat too long after she slipped past him, the cold air rushing into the space she had vacated and leaving something sharper behind in its place. His hand remained on the edge of the hot tub cover, fingers curled loosely against the vinyl as he stared down at the dark seam where warmth had just been sealed away again. A faint frown pulled at his mouth. Not offended, not angry, just thoughtful in that rare, unguarded way he usually kept buried beneath sarcasm and smirks. Whatever bright thing had been flickering in him dimmed a little, not extinguished, only folded inward.
He didn’t call after her. Didn’t push. Didn’t make a joke to lighten it.
After a moment, he exhaled softly through his nose, shook his head once like he was dismissing his own thoughts before they could become something heavier, and let the cover settle fully into place. Then he turned and followed her back inside in silence, carrying the warmth with him as best he could.
By the time they reentered the cabin, the smell of the ribs had deepened into something almost maddening. Sweet, smoky, rich enough to make the whole place feel wrapped in the promise of dinner. Kacper moved with quick efficiency then, tour concluded and priorities properly restored. He fetched a large platter from the kitchen, broad and heavy enough to hold the ribs without crowding them, and disappeared back out onto the porch with the practiced focus of a man returning to sacred work. A moment later he came back carrying the ribs like a triumph, steam curling up from the lacquered meat in fragrant ribbons, the glaze dark and glossy under the warm lights. He set them down on the counter beside the other food he’d laid out earlier, the salad, the potato salad, the neatly arranged sides, with a small, satisfied grin that made him look both smug and, irritatingly, a little beautiful in his own element.
“There,” he said, glancing between the spread and his two guests like a king admiring his feast. “Dig in, taste my genius.”
Sloane made sure to side step the whirlwind that was Kacper moving about the cabin, gathering the ribs and setting them out like a proud chef. She only stepped forward to get a better look once he motioned toward the spread with pride and beaming delight. Her own smile was small, slightly bashful, but amused at his own excitement all the same. "I don’t think I’ve ever had ribs," she confessed sheepishly. "It isn’t the most… Russian cuisine." Her eyes drifted over everything he made, noting how it all looked enticing and mouthwatering, opting to ignore her own pathetic additions that she was almost certain he plated out of pity.
She slowly looked up, meeting Kacper’s gaze from across the kitchen island. "I don’t know where to start," Sloane admitted with a subtle, uncertain vulnerability before her attention fell to Onyx who looked like her arms had become his new home. "I think I have to set you down, sweetie," she whispered to the kitten while scratching under his chin. Her feet softly padded across the cabin as she made her way to the sofa. She scooped up a throw pillow and set it on the ground in front of the hearth in the golden glow of the fire. She gently coaxed the reluctant animal from her arms and set him on top of the pillow with a couple parting pets.
Kacper’s entire face brightened at her confession in a way that was almost embarrassingly immediate, like she had just handed him the sort of opportunity he lived for. There was no judgment in it, no surprise sharp enough to make her feel out of place, only a swift, delighted sort of purpose, as though the universe had kindly arranged for him to be the first person to correct this grave culinary injustice. He snagged one of the smaller plates from the neat stack with the fluid certainty of someone who had already decided exactly how this was going to go. The kitchen, warm and golden around them, seemed to gather itself around his movement, every gesture practiced and easy, every small motion carrying that same maddening confidence he brought to nearly everything.
“Alright,” he said, tone rich with quiet satisfaction. “Then we’re doing this properly.”
He moved to the salad bowl first, already reaching for the tongs before he looked up at her again. “Do you like pepperoncini and croutons in your Caesar salad?”
The question came so naturally, so casually domestic, that it might have startled someone else more than the hot tub invitation had. But Kacper asked it like this was the most obvious thing in the world, that of course he was making her plate, of course he would want to know how she liked it, of course he would fuss over the details because she had admitted she didn’t know where to start and he had apparently taken that as a sacred responsibility. Whatever answer she gave, he followed it without hesitation, portioning out a salad on the smaller side, careful and precise even in something as simple as lettuce and dressing. He added or omitted the pepperoncini and croutons exactly as instructed, then turned and held the plate out to her with the faintest upward tilt of his brows, like presenting a work of art.
By the time Sloane had set Onyx down by the fire, on a pillow no less, which Kacper definitely noticed and absolutely filed away in the part of his brain already far too invested in her softness, he was already onto the next plate. This one larger, this one treated with the same absurd level of care that seemed to lace through everything he did when food was involved. Two ribs landed first, glossy and dark and steaming faintly, then a modest scoop of potato salad, placed with such exactness that there was not the slightest risk of anything touching anything else. The arrangement was immaculate, almost irritatingly so, like he could not help but impose order even on dinner. He snagged one of the sodas next, tucked it against the plate, and then confidently led the way toward the little table nestled between the kitchen and living room, small and round and somehow perfect for three people without feeling cramped.
“Here,” he said, setting her plate down first with a subtle care that made it feel less like a simple gesture and more like an offering. He flicked two fingers toward the chair beside it in a little beckoning motion. “Sit. I’ll get the rest.” Before she could protest, he was already backtracking for silverware and napkins, moving with the efficient, restless energy of someone happiest when there was a task in front of him.
Sloane sort of hovered out of the way in a stunned, observant silence. She watched Kacper flit about the kitchen like a man on the single most important mission of his life. There was more than once where she contemplated interrupting, holding up a finger and parting her lips only to inevitably remain quiet. She obviously had meals prepared for her before—she grew up with a private chef after all—but she couldn’t recall someone who wasn’t paid going to such lengths to prepare a meal for her. The sight of it, the simple domesticity of it all, twisted strangely in her stomach with a weird sort of comfort and acceptance. She didn’t have to struggle to fit in or find her own small piece of space to exist in around them. Kacper and Kat made room for her like it was natural, like she had been part of this odd little trio for longer than the better part of a day.
She, once again, was going to attempt to argue and try to help somehow, but Kacper was moving before she got the chance. Sloane conceded with a soft sigh as she slowly pulled out the chair in front of the meal he diligently prepared. She studied the perfectly plated food as she lowered herself into the seat. It smelled divine and just the sight of it was enough to make her stomach growl quietly beneath her burgundy sweater. She was tempted to start, but was raised not to eat until everyone was seated, so she let herself relax, if only slightly, leaning back in the chair with her hands resting in her lap patiently.
Across the room, Katryna had abandoned all pretense of civility the second she saw an opening. She rose from the couch like a woman answering a divine summons and bypassed the salad entirely, heading straight for the ribs with single-minded purpose. A half rack went onto her plate with absolutely no shame, followed by a generous mound of potato salad that landed close enough to the meat to make Kacper’s eye twitch. Then, because apparently chaos was a choice, she tossed several pepperoncini directly on top of the potato salad like garnish from hell.
Her plate was not messy, exactly, but next to Kacper’s precise arrangement it looked borderline criminal. She tucked an unopened soda beneath one arm, stabbed a fork directly into the potato salad as she passed, and squinted at her brother with the sleepy suspicion of someone who knew she was being silently judged.
“Don’t start,” she warned, voice flat with long practiced irritation as she slid into the seat on Sloane’s other side.
Kacper, to his credit, didn’t even dignify that with a response. He simply fixed his own plate in the same meticulous rhythm, salad first, then four ribs, then a smaller helping of potato salad. The only hint of rebellion was that, like his sister, he dropped a few pepperoncini onto the potato salad, though in his case they were arranged rather than tossed. Then he added a bag of chips, silverware, extra napkins, and another soda before finally claiming the seat beside Sloane, close enough that the warmth from his shoulder might brush hers if either of them leaned too far. He handed a few napkins toward Kat without looking, and she muttered a distracted thanks before immediately picking up one of the ribs with both hands like a barbarian queen at her feast. She took a massive bite without hesitation.
Kacper turned his attention back to Sloane with a small, satisfied grin, clearly far more invested in her reaction than he ought to have been.
“I usually start with the salad, then the ribs,” he explained, voice slipping into that warm, low cadence he used when he was in his element. “She doesn’t care if she burns her entire mouth, but the salad gives the meat more time to cool off.”
As if summoned by the accusation, Kat suddenly froze mid chew across from them. Her eyes widened the tiniest bit, and then she made a series of strange, pained little noises around the mouthful, sucking in sharp breaths through parted lips as she tried to pull cool air over the burn. It was immediately obvious she had, in fact, scorched the hell out of her mouth. Kacper didn’t even look surprised.
“Case in point,” he said mildly.
Kat glared at him with watering eyes, fanned her mouth once with her free hand, and then, because she was apparently incapable of learning, took another bite the second the worst of the heat subsided.
“Worth it,” she mumbled thickly around the edge of the rib, absolutely unrepentant.
Near the hearth, Onyx let out the most pitiful little mew imaginable, the sound thin and dramatic as he stared toward Sloane from his carefully prepared pillow like she had abandoned him to a cruel and loveless fate. Before the tragedy could deepen, Opal sauntered past with all the airy self importance of a queen crossing her court and promptly smacked him in the head with her fluffy tail as she passed. The black cat blinked in affronted silence. Then Opal continued on as if nothing had happened, winding gracefully around Sloane’s ankles the moment she reached the table, purring loud and shameless and pressing insistently at her legs like she was making a case for replacement status. Kacper watched the whole thing with a snort under his breath, the sound warm and amused and threaded through with a strange, quiet contentment he didn’t dare examine too closely. Between the fire, the animals, Kat burning her mouth for the sake of ribs, and Sloane sitting there with a plate he’d made just for her, the evening had somehow slipped into something dangerously close to peace.
Sloane slowly looked up between the siblings, her gaze lingering a moment or two longer on Kacper as he took up the space beside her, settling in the chair nearly shoulder to shoulder like when they stood at the grill. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence, one subtle movement away from accidentally bumping into one another. She chuckled as her gaze found its way back to Kat as she huffed and hissed around a bite that was far too hot. "Salad. Right," she responded with a nod of her head and a smile she tried to hide by tucking her lips between her teeth.
Her eyes fell to the warm ribs awaiting consumption on her plate, then stole quick glances at Kat and Kacper like she had to be certain she was approaching the meal appropriately. While it had already looked like finger food, the way Kate dove in with reckless abandon, it only solidified that thought. Sloane chewed on the inside of her cheek as she looked down at her sweater, lost in thought for a moment or two before finally sitting more upright. She reached up, grabbing hold of her barrette and unclipping it, letting her dark brown hair slip from where it was being held and fall in front of her face, if only for a second. The gold clip dangled from her lips as her fingers ran through her hair, sweeping it all back and twisting it. At one point her elbow lightly brushed Kacper’s bicep. She shot him an apologetic glance before quickly pinning her hair up and out of the way, only her bangs and the stray strands along her temples slipping free.
The quiet, dejected meow drew her attention back toward the hearth and a particularly pathetic kitten that looked heartbroken to be left behind. Sloane’s bottom lip stuck out in a little pout, feeling like the meanest person in the world while she temporarily contemplated the logistics of holding Onyx in her lap while trying not to drip barbecue sauce on his head. Before her guilt could win out, Rocco made his way over to the pillow, prodding the small cat with nose as he sniffed him enthusiastically. He stared at Onyx for a second or two then collapsed on the ground beside him with a soft thud, sighing as his head rested on the pillow alongside the black ball of fur. Meanwhile Opal circling Sloane’s legs distracted her for a moment as she made sure to give her own pets and attention, because it was only fair.
Once Opal settled somewhere between Sloane’s feet, she finally turned her attention back toward her awaiting food while pushing her sleeves up into the crooks of her elbows. Being careful not to disturb the small animal that used her feet as a bed, she grabbed one of the napkins and unfolded it, then tucked one of the corners into the collar of her shirt. Her gaze slowly drifted sideways until she locked eyes with Kacper. She gave him a sheepish smile with a small shrug. "What? I don’t want to ruin my favorite sweater."
Kacper had thought, briefly, that the worst of whatever strange affliction had taken hold of him this evening had passed. Then Sloane looked between him and Kat with that soft, careful uncertainty, like she was quietly trying to decode the proper way to exist in the moment, and he felt something in his chest go warm and strange all over again. It only got worse when she unclipped her barrette. One second her hair was pinned back, the next it spilled free in a dark silk curtain, catching the firelight in warm brown ribbons as she gathered it up again with a kind of effortless grace that made him abruptly very interested in staring at literally anything else. Her elbow brushed his arm, light as a whisper, and the stupid little jolt that went through him was so immediate and so disproportionate he decided, right then and there, that he was absolutely taking an antacid before bed. There was no other reasonable explanation for the strange clench low in his stomach and the odd, electric tingle that kept catching beneath his ribs whenever she moved too close or smiled too softly or, apparently, merely existed within arm’s reach.
And then there was the napkin.
He watched, helplessly entertained, as she pushed her sleeves up with neat precision, unfolded one of the napkins, and tucked the corner primly into the collar of her sweater like she was about to attend a formal banquet instead of eat ribs. The sheepish little look she sent him when he caught her at it nearly undid him entirely. There was something so earnest about it, so careful and adorably practical, that he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing too soon and making her self conscious. Still, the corner of his mouth betrayed him, curving upward into a grin that was far too soft to be properly mocking.
“No, no,” he murmured, one hand lifting in surrender, amusement warm in his voice. “I respect the strategy.”
Kat, who had already reduced one rib to bones and had absolutely no room to judge anyone’s dining habits, snorted around a bite and shook her head. “That is the most aggressively polite way I’ve ever seen someone prepare to commit violence against barbecue.”
Sloane’s face reddened quickly as her gaze darted sheepishly between the pair. "Finishing school," she offered, as if that was answer enough for the way she carried herself. There was a second where she tried to slouch, but the moment it slipped from her mind, her back immediately straightened like a learned mannerism that was ingrained so deeply in her, it’d be near impossible to sever. "Hard habit to break, I guess," she confessed with a bashful smile.
She sat at the table like a girl fresh out of finishing school, sitting upright, spine erect and nowhere near the back of the chair. Her elbows never touched the table and every movement felt very intentional and poised. She first popped open her soda and took a sip, then diligently had a few small bites of salad as instructed before setting to the main portion of the meal. Her hands sort of hovered in the air for a moment or two, clenching and unclenching before she finally picked up one of the ribs with the bone daintily pinned between her index fingers and thumbs. Sloane brought the meat to her lips and tried her best not to make a mess, but the sauce quickly found its way around her mouth and cheeks as she took her first bite. It was warm, savory, and tangy. For a meal that seemed so simple on paper, the flavor was rich and she could understand why Kat didn’t hesitate to dive in, regardless of burning her mouth. After finishing a second bite, she looked over at Kacper with a small, approving smile. "It’s really good," she admitted with a nod.
Kacper huffed out a laugh at that, but his attention kept snagging back on Sloane anyway. On the way she sat so upright, every movement so precise and elegant it looked almost instinctive. On the way her hands hovered over the rib for a moment as if she were mentally preparing for battle. On the way she tried, valiantly and impossibly, to eat something as messy as ribs like she was still under the watchful eye of a governess. It was hopeless from the start, of course. Sauce found its way to the corner of her mouth, then a little more along her cheek, and Kacper had to look down at his own plate for a second because the sight of her trying so hard and still ending up adorably disastrous was making that ridiculous tightness in his chest worse. He finally gave up on pretending he wasn’t affected the moment she looked at him with that small, approving smile and told him it was really good.
His own smile, already threatening to burst through, turned positively luminous.
It was bright enough to warm the whole side of his face, boyish and open in a way that stripped years off him. For a heartbeat he just looked at her, absurdly pleased, like the compliment had landed somewhere much deeper than it should have. Then, because if he sat there basking too obviously his sister would roast him alive, he ducked his head and finally reached for his own food.
“Yeah?” he said, trying for casual and failing only slightly as he started properly, with the salad. “Told you. Best cook you’ll ever meet.”
Kat made a rude noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and immediately stole a pepperoncini off his plate when he wasn’t looking.
Sloane hummed and took another bite, like the weight of her decision weighed heavily on each savory bite. "Juries out," she mused. Her smile grew faintly mischievous as she pinned the tip of her thumb between her lips and licked a small bit of sauce from her skin. "I can’t say that in confidence until you make something I’ve had before." She shrugged innocently, muffling her laughs as she took another bite.
Kacper’s answer came so fast it nearly tripped over itself, bright and immediate and entirely too pleased, like she had just handed him a gauntlet instead of a teasing little challenge over dinner. Whatever he’d been about to say before that vanished the second she licked the sauce from her thumb, his brain shorting out for one catastrophic beat before his grin widened into something almost feral with delight. The competitive spark in him lit up at once, easy and genuine, but underneath it there was that same warm, dangerous thrill that had been dogging him all evening, something tightening pleasantly in his chest at the idea of there being a next time, and another after that, enough chances to prove anything at all to her. “Challenge accepted,” he said, voice bright with mock-solemn conviction, like he was sealing a sacred oath rather than promising to outcook a private chef.
Across the table, Katryna made a long suffering sound into her soda. “Gods help us,” she muttered, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her with a smile.
The next few minutes slipped into an easy rhythm that felt almost frightening in how natural it was. Forks scraped softly against plates. Soda cans hissed when they were opened. The fire murmured in the hearth, and every so often one of the cats shifted around their feet or Rocco let out a long, contented sigh from where he’d flopped beside Onyx’s pillow. Katryna, now warm and full enough to be less dramatic about her suffering, began telling them about her cabin between bites, voice lazily animated in the way it always got when she was talking about something she actually liked.
“It’s huge,” she said, gesturing vaguely with her fork. “Like, offensively nice. I love the space, but I don’t think the heating is very efficient. The fireplace is downstairs, and I have no idea how that’s supposed to keep the second floor bedroom warm. I haven’t fully explored yet, though, so maybe there’s some weird godly vent system hidden somewhere.”
Kacper, mouth full of potato salad and entirely too smug, swallowed before chiming in.
“My outdoor shower has heated floors,” he informed his sister with the gravity of a man sharing sacred knowledge. “And LED lights. I can make it look like a nightclub.”
Kat stared at him flatly for two full seconds.
“That is the most you thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re just jealous,” he shot back, utterly unbothered.
“I’m disgusted.”
“That too.”
Sloane contemplated chiming in about her own cabin, but as the siblings compared luxuries and amenities, she quickly realized there was nothing of particular note to share. Her cabin was more of a glorified shack rather than a proper home. There was one main room that was taken up primarily by her bed and a tiny little table that was large enough for just her. There was a bathroom, of course, but nothing spectacular, no disco lights or heated floors. And the most noteworthy part was a simple bookshelf, small and tucked away in a corner that housed all of her favorite books and any others she intended on reading. It was quaint and unassuming, tucked away in the thicket of the forest and out of sight… like her.
From there, the conversation unraveled into smaller, softer things. The kind of mundane chatter that should have meant nothing and somehow meant everything. Kat complained that the teddy bear socks she’d accidentally napped in weren’t warm enough, but she hadn’t changed because she was too tired to care, and Kacper immediately informed Sloane that knowing Kat owns teddy bear adjacent clothing was excellent blackmail material for later use. Sloane’s quiet laughter threaded through it, warm and low and increasingly unguarded as the day wore on, and every time it did, Kacper found himself listening for it again without meaning to. They talked about the animals next, about how Onyx had apparently already decided Sloane belonged to him, about Opal’s shameless opportunism, about Rocco’s deeply sincere face and how he somehow managed to look emotionally devastated by every minor inconvenience. It was all so ordinary. So absurdly, painfully ordinary.
And that was the dangerous part.
Because somewhere between the ribs and the teasing and Kat’s dry commentary, the evening stopped feeling like near strangers sharing dinner because circumstance had shoved them together. It began to feel like something rehearsed. Familiar. Like this was a routine they had settled into over years instead of hours, Kacper cooking, Kat complaining, Sloane smiling softly into her plate while the animals drifted in and out like they already knew where they belonged. The warmth of the cabin pressed in around them, wrapping the table in gold and shadow and woodsmoke, and for a little while the outside world ceased to exist entirely. No gods. No camp. No pasts heavy enough to bend their shoulders. Just dinner. Just the fire. Just the simple, startling ease of company that fit too well too quickly.
By the time their plates were mostly cleared, the table looked comfortably lived in. Crumpled napkins. Bare bones. A few stray croutons and pepperoncini seeds. Half finished sodas sweating rings into the wood that Kacper kept throwing anxious glances at. Kat leaned back in her chair with the boneless exhaustion of someone who had eaten exactly what she wanted and was prepared to fight anyone who tried to move her. Kacper stretched too, one arm lifting over the back of his chair as he rolled his shoulders, the motion pulling his shirt taut for a moment before he let himself settle again. Then he turned his head, looking at Sloane sidelong with that same crooked, private sort of smile that had been finding her more and more all evening.
“It might be too late for coffee and stories,” he admitted lightly, voice low and warm with the sort of easy invitation that no longer seemed to cost him anything around her. His gaze flicked toward the kitchen cupboards, then back again. “But if you’re willing to settle for warmed cider and stories…”
The corner of his mouth tipped upward just a little more. “I spotted a swanky looking bottle in the cupboard. Looked well aged and very expensive.”
Kat made a quiet hum of approval from beside Sloane, eyes already half-lidded with contentment.
“That’s the best thing you’ve said all night,” she murmured, then slanted a look at Sloane with a faint smile that was sleepy and sincere. “Please say yes. I’m too comfortable to move, and if I go back outside right now I may simply die.”
Kacper snorted, but his attention stayed fixed on Sloane, open and patient and quietly hopeful beneath the teasing. Another offering. Another small, ordinary moment extended toward her with both hands.
Sloane had settled a little more comfortably into her chair as the meal came to an end. The side of her finger idly ran up the side of her soda can, catching the perspiration before it could add to the small pool that circled around the aluminum along the wood. She agreed to come under the pretense of coffee and answers, and while the food was already setting in, making her eyes a little heavier, she couldn’t deny that warm cider sounded just as good, if not better. Her smile grew faintly, more comfortable than she had any right to be as she looked at Kat on one side of her, then Kacper on the other. "Cider would be nice."
End of part 1.
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