Morning didn’t arrive all at once.
It slipped in through the windows quietly, pale and thin at first, catching along the edges of the curtains and the floorboards before spreading wider across the room. The house looked different in it. Softer in some places, harsher in others. The shadows had nowhere to hide, but the emptiness they left behind felt just as noticeable.
Madaline woke slowly.
Not to a sound.
To the light.
It pressed faintly against her eyelids until she shifted, one arm pulling tighter around herself before she finally opened her eyes. For a second, she didn’t move. Just laid there, watching the ceiling come into focus as her mind caught up with where she was.
The house.
The trip.
Last night.
It came back in pieces. The living room. The laughter. The way everything had slowly quieted until it felt like they were all just waiting for someone to decide it was time to stop.
She turned her head.
Mira lay on the bed beside hers, turned slightly toward the window, one arm tucked under her pillow. Her auburn hair had spread out messily across the sheets, catching the morning light in soft strands that made it look almost lighter than it was. Her breathing was even, slow. Peaceful in a way that made everything else feel a little more grounded just by being there.
For a moment, Madaline just watched her.
It was easier than thinking.
Outside, something brushed faintly against the side of the house. A branch, maybe. Or just the wind. The sound was soft enough to ignore, but it still pulled her attention toward the window.
The woods looked different in daylight.
Closer.
Not actually, she knew that. But the way the trees stood now, sharp and detailed instead of swallowed by dark, made the space between the house and the tree line feel smaller than it had last night. The yard stretched out plainly, nothing hidden in it. The firepit sat empty. The ground around it uneven but ordinary.
Nothing there.
Nothing wrong.
Madaline let out a quiet breath and pushed herself up, the mattress shifting slightly under her weight. The movement earned a soft, half-asleep noise from Mira, but she didn’t wake. Just shifted her face deeper into the pillow and stilled again.
Madaline smiled faintly before sliding her feet to the floor.
The wood was colder than she expected.
She crossed the room slowly, careful not to make too much noise, and opened the door just enough to slip out into the hallway.
The house was quieter than it had been the night before.
Not empty.
Just… settling.
A door down the hall stood half open. Another fully closed. The faint sound of movement came from downstairs—something soft, like a cabinet opening or a glass being set down. Someone was already awake.
Madaline moved toward the stairs, one hand brushing lightly against the wall as she went.
Each step creaked under her weight on the way down.
Not loud.
Just enough to remind her how quiet everything else was.
The living room came into view first.
It looked… used.
Not messy, exactly. Just lived in. Glasses still sat on the table from the night before. One tipped slightly on its side, not spilled, just left that way. The couch cushions were out of place, one pushed in deeper than the others. A jacket had been thrown over the back of a chair and forgotten.
It felt like a room that had gone to sleep without cleaning up after itself.
No one was in it.
Madaline’s gaze moved instinctively toward the door.
Closed.
Exactly where it had been the night before.
For a second, she hesitated.
Then she kept moving.
The kitchen held the only real sound in the house.
Water running.
She stepped into the doorway and found Noah at the sink, one hand braced on the counter as he rinsed out a glass. He looked like he’d been up for a while already. Hair slightly damp at the edges like he’d run water through it, sleeves pushed up, posture steady in a way that didn’t match the early hour.
He glanced up when she entered.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” Madaline said, leaning lightly against the doorframe.
He shut off the water and set the glass upside down on the counter. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t really sleep after a while.”
“New place.”
“Yeah.”
The answer sat between them for a second.
Madaline pushed off the frame and stepped farther into the kitchen, glancing around without thinking much about what she was looking for.
“Anyone else up?” she asked.
“Ethan was,” Noah said. “He went back upstairs a minute ago.”
“Mira’s still out.”
“That tracks.”
Madaline nodded faintly, reaching for one of the cups on the counter and filling it with water.
She didn’t realize she was thinking about it until she heard herself ask—
“Did he ever come back in?”
Noah paused.
Not dramatically.
Just long enough to make the question feel more solid than it had a second ago.
“Who?” he said, though it was clear he knew.
“Katarin’s friend. The one who went out.”
Noah’s eyes flicked briefly toward the back door.
Still closed.
“I didn’t see him come in,” he said.
Madaline frowned slightly, more in thought than concern. “Maybe he came in after we went upstairs.”
“Maybe.”
The word didn’t carry much weight.
She took a sip of water, her gaze drifting back toward the living room and then, without meaning to, toward the door again.
It looked exactly the same as it had last night.
Closed.
Still.
Ordinary.
“He probably just crashed somewhere,” she said after a second, more to fill the quiet than anything else.
“Probably,” Noah echoed.
But this time, the word sat differently.
Not wrong.
Just not quite enough.
Madaline set the glass down on the counter and leaned back against it, crossing her arms loosely. “Katarin didn’t seem worried.”
“Katarin doesn’t seem worried about most things.”
“That’s fair.”
Another quiet stretch.
The house creaked faintly somewhere above them. A floorboard shifting. A door opening or closing. Life moving through it again in slow, waking motions.
Nothing felt urgent.
Nothing felt wrong enough to name.
And yet—
Madaline found herself glancing at the door one more time.
Just to check.
Still closed.
Still quiet.
As if it had never opened at all.
The quiet stretched just a second too long.
Then it broke upstairs.
A door opened somewhere down the hall, followed by the soft drag of footsteps. A moment later, Ymir’s voice carried faintly through the ceiling, thick with sleep and confusion.
“Why is it so bright?”
Madaline let out a small breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“That would be the sun,” Noah said, already turning back to the sink.
“I don’t like it.”
“It’s not optional.”
“It should be.”
A heavier set of steps crossed the upstairs hall, followed by something bumping lightly against the wall. Ymir again. Madaline shook her head faintly, a small smile pulling at her mouth despite everything.
“That’s reassuring,” she said.
“That he’s awake?” Noah asked.
“That someone is.”
Noah didn’t answer.
The water ran again for a second, then stopped. He dried his hands on a towel and set it aside, his movements neat and controlled in a way that made the kitchen feel more put together just by him being in it.
“You want coffee?” he asked.
“If there is coffee.”
“There’s always coffee.”
“That sounds like something you’ve said before.”
“I probably have.”
He moved toward the cabinets, opening one and scanning the contents with a quick, efficient glance. Madaline leaned back against the counter again, letting the normalcy of the moment settle over her.
Morning.
Kitchen.
Coffee.
It should’ve felt grounding.
Instead, the thought from earlier lingered just beneath it all, quiet but persistent.
Did he come back in?
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Ymir appeared first, one hand dragging over his face as he came down, his hair a mess and his expression somewhere between half-asleep and vaguely offended by existence.
“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he announced to no one in particular.
“You drank like it,” Noah said, not looking at him.
“That’s not helpful.”
“It’s accurate.”
Ymir squinted at him, then shifted his attention to Madaline. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“Tell him I look fine.”
Madaline tilted her head slightly, considering. “You look… awake.”
“That’s worse.”
“It’s honest.”
“I don’t like honesty this early.”
He moved past them into the kitchen, reaching for a glass without asking and filling it halfway before drinking it all in one go. The movement was automatic, practiced, like he’d done it a thousand times before.
“Anyone else up?” he asked, setting the glass down.
“Ethan was,” Madaline said. “He went back upstairs.”
“Mira’s still asleep,” Noah added.
Ymir nodded, like that all made sense. Then, after a second—
“Where’s the other guy?”
The question landed lightly.
Almost offhand.
But it didn’t slide away the way the others had.
Madaline felt it settle.
Noah didn’t answer right away.
“Outside, maybe,” Madaline said, before the silence could stretch too far. “He went out last night.”
Ymir frowned slightly, thinking. “Yeah, but… that was last night.”
“He probably came back in after we went up,” she said.
“Did he?” Ymir asked, glancing between her and Noah.
Noah shook his head once. “Didn’t see him.”
Ymir’s expression shifted.
Not concern.
Not yet.
Just a slight tightening, like a thought had formed that didn’t quite sit right.
“Maybe he crashed on the couch,” he said, already turning toward the living room.
“Maybe,” Madaline echoed, pushing off the counter to follow.
The living room looked the same as before.
Used.
Unsettled.
But empty.
Ymir stepped farther in, scanning quickly. “He’s not here.”
“Check the other room,” Noah said from behind them.
Ymir moved toward the hallway without argument, disappearing briefly before reappearing a few seconds later.
“Nothing,” he said.
Madaline’s gaze drifted, taking in the small details she hadn’t noticed before.
The way the couch cushions hadn’t been used overnight.
The untouched space where someone could have slept and didn’t.
The stillness.
“Maybe he went back out,” she said, quieter now.
“Why would he do that?” Ymir asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he left,” Noah said, stepping into the room now.
Ymir looked at him. “In the middle of the night?”
“People do weird things.”
“Not like that.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The answers didn’t quite land.
They hovered instead, not wrong enough to argue with, but not right enough to settle anything either.
“Where’s Katarin?” Ymir asked suddenly.
“Still upstairs,” Madaline said.
“We should ask her.”
“About what?” Noah said. “Her friend not sleeping on the couch?”
“About whether he left.”
Noah didn’t respond.
Ymir hesitated, then exhaled. “I mean… he’s probably fine.”
“Probably,” Madaline said again.
The word felt thinner this time.
Ymir shifted his weight, glancing toward the door.
“I’m gonna check outside,” he said, almost casually.
Noah’s head turned slightly. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” Ymir said. “I just—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t need to.
Madaline’s eyes moved to the door again.
Still closed.
Still quiet.
For a second, no one moved.
Then Ymir stepped toward it anyway.
The handle clicked under his hand.
And as the door began to open, the cool morning air slipped inside, carrying something with it that didn’t quite belong to the light.
It wasn’t a smell.
Not exactly.
Just a colder edge to the air, sharper than it should’ve been for morning, slipping past Ymir as he pulled the door wider and stepped out onto the porch.
Madaline followed a few steps behind without thinking.
Noah didn’t.
He stayed just inside the doorway, one shoulder angled toward the frame, watching.
The yard looked… normal.
That was the first thing Madaline noticed.
Clear daylight washed over everything now, soft and pale where it touched the grass, sharper where it hit the gravel. The firepit sat exactly where it had the night before, the chairs still uneven around it. The tree line stood still and quiet in the distance, every branch and trunk visible now in a way that made it feel less like a wall and more like something you could walk into if you wanted to.
Nothing moved.
Nothing looked wrong.
“See?” Ymir said after a second, stepping down off the porch. “He probably just—”
He stopped.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for the sentence to fall apart in the middle.
Madaline’s attention snapped to him. “What?”
Ymir crouched slightly, one hand bracing on his knee as he looked down at the gravel near the edge of the steps.
“His cigarette,” he said.
Madaline stepped closer, peering over his shoulder.
A small, flattened stub sat half-ground into the gravel, dark and used. Not fresh. Not recent. Just… left.
“So?” she said, though her voice came out quieter than she meant it to.
“So,” Ymir said, straightening slowly, “why would he leave it out here if he went back in?”
“He could’ve just dropped it,” she said.
“Yeah, but—” He hesitated, glancing toward the yard. “I don’t know. It just…”
He didn’t finish.
Behind them, Noah stepped out onto the porch.
He didn’t come all the way down.
Just far enough to see.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Ymir said quickly. “Just his cigarette.”
Noah’s gaze dropped briefly to the ground, then lifted again, scanning the yard in a slow, measured sweep.
The firepit.
The chairs.
The open stretch of grass.
The trees.
He didn’t rush it.
Didn’t call out.
Just looked.
“Hey,” Ymir called, raising his voice slightly. “You out here?”
The sound carried farther in the morning than it had at night.
It didn’t echo.
It just… went.
And nothing came back.
Madaline felt something tighten faintly in her chest.
“Maybe he went around the side,” she said.
“Why would he go around the side?” Ymir asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
The answer sat there, unhelpful and unresolved.
Ymir took a few steps farther into the yard, slow at first, like he wasn’t entirely sure he meant to go that far. His shoes pressed faint impressions into the grass, damp from the morning.
“Hey!” he called again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
No movement from the trees.
No figure stepping out from behind the house.
No answer.
Noah came down off the porch then.
Not fast.
But with more intention than before.
He moved to the edge of the gravel and stopped, eyes narrowing slightly as he looked toward the ground just beyond where Ymir had been standing.
“What?” Ymir asked, following his gaze.
Noah didn’t answer right away.
He stepped forward once, then crouched, his hand hovering just above the ground.
“It’s nothing,” he said after a second.
But he didn’t sound convinced.
Madaline took a step closer, her eyes trying to follow what he had seen.
The gravel looked disturbed.
Not in a clear, obvious way.
Just… uneven.
Like something had shifted there.
Like weight had been put down harder than it should have been.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Footprints,” Noah said. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Hard to tell on gravel.”
Ymir frowned. “There’d be footprints. It’s dirt right there.”
Noah glanced toward the patch of earth beyond the stones.
Then past it.
Toward the trees.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “There would be.”
The three of them stood there for a second, the space between the house and the woods stretching wider than it had a minute ago.
Madaline didn’t know why the yard suddenly felt less open.
Less simple.
“He’s probably fine,” Ymir said again, but there was less certainty in it now. “Maybe he went for a walk or something.”
“In the middle of the night?” Noah asked.
“People do weird things.”
“You said that yesterday,” Madaline murmured.
Ymir huffed out a breath. “Okay, yeah, but—he’s not dead or anything. That’d be insane.”
The word hung there.
Too heavy.
Too early.
No one responded to it.
Noah straightened slowly, his gaze lingering on the tree line a second longer than necessary before he looked back toward the house.
“Let’s not assume anything yet,” he said.
“I’m not assuming,” Ymir said quickly. “I’m just saying he’s probably being an idiot.”
“That’s still an assumption.”
“It’s a fair one.”
Madaline wrapped her arms loosely around herself, the morning air suddenly feeling cooler than it had a minute ago.
Behind them, the house stood open and quiet, the door still wide where Ymir had left it.
From inside, faint movement sounded again—someone else waking, maybe. A step on the stairs. A door opening.
Life continuing.
Normal.
“We should go back in,” she said after a moment.
Ymir nodded, though his eyes drifted once more toward the trees before he turned.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”
Noah didn’t move right away.
He stood where he was for a second longer, gaze fixed on the edge of the yard.
Then he exhaled quietly and followed them back toward the porch.
As he stepped inside, his eyes flicked once more over his shoulder.
Back toward the tree line.
Not because he saw anything.
But because something about it didn’t sit right.
And he couldn’t explain why.
The door shut behind them with a softer sound than it should have.
Like the house was trying not to interrupt.
“Well?” came Katarin’s voice from the stairs.
She stood halfway down now, one hand braced on the railing, expression already edged with impatience. The other guy lingered a step above her, watching more than speaking.
“He’s not out there,” Ymir said.
Katarin frowned. “What do you mean, not out there?”
“I mean not out there,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “No sign of him.”
She huffed a short laugh. “Then he left.”
“Without saying anything?” Madaline asked.
“He does that,” Katarin said quickly, too quickly. “He gets bored and disappears. It’s not a thing.”
Noah stepped past them into the living room, voice even. “Phone?”
Katarin hesitated, just for a second. “What about it?”
“Did he take it?”
Another pause.
“Obviously,” she said, but it didn’t land clean.
The silence that followed wasn’t long.
Just enough to settle.
Ymir rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s probably fine.”
“He is fine,” Katarin snapped, already turning back up the stairs. “You’re making it weird.”
Her footsteps carried upward, sharper than before.
The other guy followed after a second, slower.
Madaline stayed where she was, her eyes drifting once more toward the door.
Closed again.
Still.
Noah didn’t look at it.
He looked at the floor instead, like he was replaying something he hadn’t fully understood the first time.
“We’ll give it a little time,” he said finally.
No one argued.
Because nothing had happened.
Not really.
Not enough to name.
And yet, as the house filled slowly with the sounds of people waking and moving again, something about the morning no longer felt as simple as it had when Madaline first opened her eyes.