On the last evening before Marshall and Wyn would leave Miss Evelyn's garden, the three adults sat in the kitchen, chatting. Muyang had bolted from the house to watch the sunset with his friends, meanwhile the elderly lady had brought a bottle of cider to the table.
"It's nothing extraordinary," she had humbly remarked, waving the curious disciple out of the way to get the glasses. "Just some apple cider I made about three weeks ago. It might not be the strongest yet, but something told me it was time to bring it out."
Just two hours into the cider gathering, the room was filled with laughter and banter. The tablecloth had become dotted with stray drops of the drink that had spilled over. Miss Evelyn even brought out another bottle from the basement, as if aiming to empty her stash by the end of the night.
While she filled their glasses anew, Marshall turned to the snow deity with a teasing grin. "You look a tad drunk, need help getting upstairs—"
Wyn stepped on the disciple's foot under the table, not letting him finish.
Marshall's knee hit the table by reflex, "Ow!"
Miss Evelyn slapped the table, intervening with the growing chaos. "Eh-hey! What are you two doing? Are you toddlers? You'll flip the table at this point!"
"I apologize," Wyn bowed his head in sincere regret, prompting a laugh from the disciple.
"Isn't nineteen still a child's age? Wyn's still in his teens," Marshall poked fun at the snow deity, which earned him a half-hearted glare.
The elderly slammed her glass on the table, exclaiming, "Nineteen?"
"Why? Does he look old? Like a grandpa?" the disciple kept going. Another warning landed on his foot. "Ow! Hey!"
"His manners make him appear older, but," Miss Evelyn chuckled, taking her words back, "not at the moment, eh?"
Wyn carefully leaned on the table, watching Miss Evelyn with a question written over his face. "May I ask something?"
"Go on," she replied, casually crossing her arms over her chest.
"By any chance, did Marshall get that 'eh' from you?"
Miss Evelyn chuckled, setting her glass down. "From me? It's my drunken habit, so I doubt it. He wouldn't have heard it. Marshie was never in the room when the adults brought out the strong stuff."
"I was present once," Marshall raised his finger in objection.
Miss Evelyn's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You were? When?"
"A very long time ago," he mentioned casually. "I remember sitting under the dining table as a kid while you had some guests over. You were arguing over something, and with every point you made, you added an 'eh?' at the end of the sentence."
"Look at you!" Miss Evelyn exclaimed, patting his arm. "You've never told me this story!" She prodded him, "Share something else. What other memories have stuck to you?"
Marshall thought for a bit, digging through his mind, then pointed at the snow deity. "Right now, I recall this guy constantly fretting over how he could've done something better when he's already near perfect in his actions—well, minus the social skills."
Yet another step on the foot rattled the table, prompting an "Ack!" from Marshall. He slid his stool away from the table, sitting further back. "At least switch it up! Why do you keep targeting the same foot?!"
"Is that so?" Miss Evelyn scratched her head, wondering about the previous statement, "Wynnie doesn't seem like someone who would be fretting over mistakes. There's an aura of wisdom around him."
The disciple almost fell off his seat. "What aura of wisdom? He just stepped on my foot!"
"You keep provoking me," Wyn coolly responded.
Miss Evelyn sided with the snow deity, nodding, "Even the most patient people get fed up eventually."
"Mhm," Marshall added with a playful grin, "that's nothing new. What's new is that now he even gets shy."
The corner of Wyn's mouth tightened and a stomp came from under the table. But the disciple's feet were far out of reach. Marshall burst out laughing, leaning forward on his stool. "Missed it! Haha!"
He continued messing around, taunting the snow deity, "If you like me that much, just say it! No need for aggressive affection!"
Miss Evelyn chuckled as she watched the two of them going back and forth, taking small sips from her glass.
"You two bicker like an old married couple," she quipped, her comment drawing sudden silence from both sides.
Wyn glanced down at his cider, and Marshall let out a quiet laugh, scooting back to the table.
Miss Evelyn seemed to appreciate calm, and sighed longingly. She set her glass on the table with a soft clink. "Ah, having you kids around takes me back to my youth."
Marshall turned his attention to her, listening as she shared a few stories from her days. He was waiting for the right time to reveal that they were leaving soon and to ask whether Muyang could stay, but before he could find the right moment, three forceful knocks on the main door pierced through the chatter.
Muyang couldn't have possibly caused such a harsh sound, so everyone tensed.
Wyn cautiously stood up. "Are you expecting guests?"
"Not at all," Miss Evelyn shook her head with a perplexed frown.
They sobered up within seconds, rounding up in silence as they waited to see what would happen next. The loud knocking repeated, coupled with a man's voice commanding for the owner to open the door. Their initial puzzlement was rapidly replaced by alarm.
"The officials?" Marshall quickly whispered to Wyn before turning to Miss Evelyn with a request, "I'm so sorry, but can you pretend I was never here?"
"Yes, yes, don't worry, run to the back door, both of you," Miss Evelyn urged in a hushed voice, swiftly hiding two of the glasses.
She headed towards the door with loud steps, announcing, "One moment, I'm coming!"
The two sneaked up to the back door, but just as Marshall was about to reach for the handle, he caught a glimpse of a shadow. Behind the curtains loomed a man's figure. He halted, extending an arm to stop Wyn, pointing at the window. It appeared that the officials had surrendered the house.
He stared at the figure, his mind racing. They couldn't afford to be found out in Miss Evelyn's home—she would have faced severe consequences for hiding them.
However... how did the officials know Marshall was there? Did someone tip them off? Why had they appeared so late in the evening? He had been careful not to show his face in town too much, but did he slip up?
A light squeeze on his hand snapped the disciple out of it. Marshall looked up at Wyn, then quickly switched directions and led him up the stairs. Every creak of the steps sounded like an exclaim pointing to their location.
They slipped into the bedroom and hid behind the vertically propped-up mattresses that had been left to air out. Both of them listened for every little sound.
The main door opened with a noisy creak, followed by marching steps and a demanding voice. Miss Evelyn's voice came from downstairs, strained but composed as she spoke to the officials.
"I assure you, I'm alone. There's no one else here," she said.
"Search the place," came a gruff response. The intruding footsteps spread throughout the house.
Marshall's mind raced. Being trapped in a small bedroom was no good. If the mattresses were moved out of the way, they would have been cornered.
He whisked Wyn out from the hiding spot with an urgent whisper, "The attic."
Like two ghosts, they crossed the hallway in a breeze. Marshall pulled the cord, and the ladder unfolded with a soft creak. After quickly climbing up into the attic, Wyn closed the hatch behind them.
It was dark and stuffy—the only light came in from a tiny window that was fogged by ages of dust. The disciple spotted two trunks stacked on top of each other near the wall.
"Let's hide behind this," he whispered to Wyn. Yet, he moved in a haste and tripped over an old set of pans. He managed to keep his balance, but the noise of the pans scraping against the floor shattered the silence.
They held their breaths, listening for any sounds from downstairs. The stairs leading to the second floor creaked, followed by murmured voices. Heavy steps boomed through the hallway, heading towards the attic.
"Here," Wyn whispered, leading Marshall to the furthest corner that was swamped with old furnishings. They ducked behind a stack of boxes, sitting tight with lowered heads.
The attic hatch opened, and two officials climbed up, lantern flames flickering across the moldy ceiling.