"No thanks, I'll just move in the direction of the house," I insisted, trying to mask the unease creeping up my spine. I knew the risks—this might endanger my sister and my parents—but I'd already made my decision. One thing Tristan doesn't do is back out from his decisions.
Charles sighed, a heavy, almost disappointed sound. "Suit yourself. I've warned you." He cracked open a can of beer, settling into the worn-out sofa with a lazy sprawl. "You'll come back. I know you will." His voice trailed off into a sneer as he took a long swig.
But I wasn't about to let his words get to me. I wouldn't let him see me hesitate. "You'll come back when the house wakes up!" he called out after me, his voice echoing in the still air as I stepped off the porch, refusing to look back.
The compass he'd handed me was surprisingly functional, the needle steady as it guided me toward the old mill. I wasn't exactly a geography whiz, but I knew enough to understand that this ancient, creaking structure was significant. The mill was enormous, its weathered wooden blades towering overhead like relics of a forgotten time. What did a windmill even do, again? Generate electricity, or was that turbines? Whatever. It didn't matter.
The inside was dark and suffocating, dust hanging in the air like a shroud. The only light came from the farthest corner, a faint glow barely cutting through the gloom. I walked deeper inside, each step kicking up clouds of dust that made my lungs burn. COUGH COUGH! I felt like a human vacuum cleaner, dragging in all the grime this place had accumulated over the years.
"God, I should ask for a whole year's worth of pocket money for this," I muttered, wiping sweat and dirt from my brow. I patted my pockets, but of course, my phone was still in the car. All I had were cobwebs and pennies. Perfect.
Finally, I made it out the other side, where the oak tree stood—a massive, ancient thing that dwarfed even the windmill. I'd read about trees like this in books, but seeing it in real life was something else entirely. It made me feel small, insignificant, like a tiny speck in a world much larger than I'd ever imagined.
I pressed on, trying to ignore the oppressive heat that seemed to sap my energy with every step. "Oof! It's so f-cking hot!" I cursed under my breath, my throat dry and my skin sticky with sweat. Maybe I should have taken that water after all.
"Hey, loser! You the new owner of the mansion?" A rough voice cut through the silence, startling me. I spun around to see a woman emerging from behind the oak tree. She was dark-skinned, with a yellow dress and a filthy apron that had seen better days. She was shorter than me, but she looked strong, tough—a stark contrast to the dark circles under her eyes and the cigarette dangling from her fingers.
"Who are you?" I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
She didn't answer right away, instead taking a long drag from her cigarette. Then, as if realizing too late how revolting it tasted, she coughed violently, doubling over as she spat out the smoke. "COUGH! OH MY GOD, THAT IS DISGUSTING!" she exclaimed, crushing the cigarette under her heel with a look of utter disgust. "EW!"
I couldn't help but laugh. "You don't seem like a smoker."
She rolled her eyes, wiping her mouth with that grimy apron. I made a mental note not to touch her hand if she offered it. "I think the problem's with the cigarette," she said, half to herself. "There must be a better brand with strawberry flavor or something, right?"
"Well, smoking kills, so better not, huh?" I shrugged.
She looked at me with a kind of weary resignation. "My cousin died of lung cancer. Didn't seem to regret sh-t."
"Okay, well, it's still bad, so don't even."
Finally, she extended her hand. "I'm Janae."