I was in the kitchen, grilling chicken the way Ella had taught me. After several failed attempts, I could finally say I had mastered it—or at least, I wasn't burning it to a crisp anymore. Ella and Evans had gone out for a meeting, and as for Liam... well, I hadn't seen him, but I knew he was around. He always was.
The rich, smoky aroma of the chicken filled the kitchen, making my stomach growl. This particular chicken had given me hell when I was trying to catch it, and now, here it was—seasoned to perfection, sizzling over the fire. Karma was a funny thing. Or maybe I had chosen it on purpose. Who knew?
Satisfied with my work, I set the table, ready to devour my well-earned meal when the doorbell rang. I frowned, wondering who it could be. Wiping my hands on a cloth, I made my way to the door and pulled it open.
Two men stood outside. One wore a hoodie, his hands shoved into the front pocket, while the other, clad in a black jacket, had his arms crossed over his chest.
"Uh... Trevor, are we at the wrong house?" the guy in the hoodie asked, looking me up and down with obvious confusion.
The one in the black jacket wasn't any better. His brows furrowed as he eyed me. "Who are you?"
I tilted my head. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
They exchanged glances before the hoodie guy—Trevor, apparently—cleared his throat. "I'm Trevor, and this is Greg. Is Liam home?"
Liam? So they were here for him.
I shrugged. "I don't know. You can check around if you want." Then, curiosity got the best of me. "Who exactly are you to him?"
"We're his buddies," Greg said.
"He means friends," Trevor corrected.
I raised a brow. "Right..."
Before I could decide whether to let them in or leave them standing at the doorstep, Trevor asked, "Can we come inside?"
I hesitated for a second but then stepped aside. "Sure."
They walked in, glancing around the house like they were taking mental notes. Then Greg, ever the observant one, turned to me with an amused expression.
"I never knew Liam had a sister," he remarked.
Before I could respond, a deep voice cut through the room like a blade.
"She's not my sister."
I turned, and there he was. Liam. His hair was slightly messy, like he had just woken up or had been lost in thought. His gaze flickered between me and his so-called friends, unreadable as always.
"Hey, man," Trevor greeted, the tension in the air thick enough to cut. But Liam's focus wasn't on them. It was on me. Liam's face was stone cold—zero emotion, zero warmth. If looks could kill, we'd all be ghosts by now.
Greg leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "He's absolutely thrilled to see us."
I gave him a deadpan look. "Doesn't look like it."
Greg nodded sagely. "Oh, trust me. He just sucks at showing it. Deep down, he can't live without us."
I turned back to Liam, who was now descending the stairs like some brooding villain in a dramatic movie—expression locked in permanent disapproval.
"Right," I whispered back. "Hell yeah, he can definitely live without you guys."
Liam came down, and the guys immediately launched into their secret handshake routine—the kind only lifelong friends could pull off. I rolled my eyes and turned to head back to the dining table, only for Greg to beat me there.
"Huhww, look at that," Greg gasped dramatically, already at the table, his hand reaching for the fork like he'd just discovered a hidden treasure.
"Don't!" I panicked, rushing forward. Greg froze, the fork inches from the plate.
"Why?"
Now all eyes were on me. Even Liam raised an eyebrow. I cleared my throat. "Uh... It's not good."
Greg squinted at the perfectly grilled chicken. "Not good? This pretty thing?"
Trevor leaned in, suspicious. "Not good? This masterpiece?"
Before I could stop him, Trevor swiped the fork from Greg's hand, ready to dig in.
"You will die!" I blurted out.
Trevor froze mid-motion, the fork trembling in his grip. "Huh?"
I took a dramatic step forward. "It's laced with poison."
"What?!" Both Greg and Trevor screamed, throwing the fork down like it had burned them. Greg even smacked his tongue like he could already taste death.
Liam, who had been watching the entire thing in silence, finally spoke. "Why is it laced with poison?"
Trevor spun to me, eyes wide. "Yeah, why is it laced with poison?!"
I shrugged. "I don't know."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice like I was about to share a deep secret. Their eyes stayed glued to me, full of suspicion. And then—
I snatched the plate and bolted upstairs.
"She tricked us!" Greg howled.
"I knew she was evil!" Trevor added.
"And insane," Liam muttered, shaking his head.
I crept downstairs after devouring my chicken, sneaking back into the kitchen to drop off my plate and fork. I grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and took a long sip, relishing the satisfaction of a well-earned meal.
"Hey, trickster."
I froze mid-sip.
Greg was standing by the counter, casually munching on a bag of chips like he'd been waiting for this moment.
"It's Sara," I corrected with a sigh.
Greg's eyes lit up like he'd won the lottery. "Trevor! We were both wrong!" he called toward the living room.
"About what?" Trevor's voice floated back.
"Her name! It starts with an S!" Greg turned back to me with a smug grin. "You know Liam refused to tell us your name, right? So Trevor and I made a bet. I guessed it started with an A, and he swore it was an M." He shoved another chip into his mouth, looking entirely too pleased with himself, then strolled back into the living room.
I shook my head, pulled out the jar of orange juice from the fridge, and poured myself a cup. The cold, citrusy drink was the perfect follow-up to my victory meal.
The sound of explosions and gunfire drew my attention. Curious, I wandered into the living room. The guys were watching a war movie, and from the looks of it, things were getting intense.
"Hey, trickster," Trevor called, smirking as he tossed a chip into his mouth.
I narrowed my eyes. "It's Sara."
"It's trickster for me," he shot back, grinning.
Liam, of course, was glued to the screen like the fate of the world depended on this movie. Not even a glance in my direction. Typical.
I leaned against the doorway, watching the screen. A man was sprinting across an open field, desperately trying to escape as a plane hovered above. The tension built. My eyes stayed locked on the screen as the countdown began—
Five.
Four.
Three—
Boom.
The plane exploded.
And then—
I wasn't in the living room anymore.
I was there.
A real plane. A real explosion. Flames burst into the sky, thick smoke filling the air. A man was running—No. Someone I knew. My breath caught as his voice reached me, urgent and desperate-
"Go back!"
The blast was deafening. Heat scorched my skin. The air trembled with the force of the explosion, and for a second, I swore I could smell burning metal.
I gasped. My knees buckled. The glass slipped from my fingers. It shattered against the floor, but the sound was distant, muffled by the chaos in my head.
"Trickster?"
Trevor's voice. But it felt far, far away.
The room spun. My vision blurred. The noise was too much—ringing, pounding, deafening.
I swayed. My body gave out.
Just as I was about to hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around me, steady and firm. Liam.
"Sara, stay with me," he commanded.
Then—nothing.