Both of them ignored me.

Webb groaned like someone had just kicked over his last brain cell. “Fine, I’ll take her to the cabin.”

Marcus immediately burst out laughing—that rare, wheezy, can’t-catch-his-breath kind of laugh that sounded like an asthmatic donkey after a sprint. His whole face scrunched up, eyes nearly disappearing behind tears as his shoulders shook with the effort of it. He gasped between fits, trying to speak, but all that came out were snorts and another round of breathless, braying laughter that made it impossible not to smile, even if I wasn’t entirely sure what was so damn funny.

“No one would find her there,” he eventually gasped. “Hell, I’m not even sureI could find it again without GPS and a bloodhound.”

Webb was already rubbing his temples. “Exactly.”

I sat up from my slouch. “Wait, an actualcabin?”

They both turned to look at me.

I straightened, a little hopeful, despite the low-grade terror still buzzing in my chest. “Okay, that sounds perfect. Cozy, rustic, maybe with a cute fireplace? A little deck where I can read and recover from theliteral skin melting off my body? Maybe there’s a jacuzzi?” Admittedly, sitting in a hot jacuzzi right now sounded like torture, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice later.

Marcus actually choked, and Webb didn’t even crack a smile. “There isn’t a jacuzzi, but there’s a pretty body of water.”

I beamed. “Amazing! A little soaking time would be great right now.”

They said nothing, not one thing. And that’s when it occurred to me—I might’vevery seriously misunderstood the assignment.

Seven hours later…

We left the ranch just before sundown. Marcus had handed me a reusable grocery bag filled with travel snacks, water, and what might have been the entire aloe vera shelf from their bathroom. I’d already slathered myself up like a greased lobster in hopes of my skin not blistering mid-drive, but the supply would come in handy, given that this sunburn would likely take a few days to calm down.

Webb didn’t say much on the way out. He just loaded up the truck, opened the passenger door, and gave me a look that said, 'Don'tmake me regret this.' So I didn’t. I got in and stayed quiet. Cooperative. Graceful, even if I daresay.

Or at least Iwas until we hit the first pothole.

My teeth clicked together like a wind-up toy, and I grabbed the door handle in a white-knuckled grip. “Jesus Christ,” I gasped. “What's this road paved with, regret and craters?”

Webb smirked slightly. “You wanted rustic.”

“Rustic, yes. I didn't sign up for spinal realignment via truck suspension.”

“No refunds,” he shot back, his eyes never leaving the road.

The sun dipped lower, casting long golden fingers across the backwoods highway. We passed exactly zero other cars, three signs warning about bears, and one suspiciously human-shaped scarecrow that Iswear tracked me with its button eyes.

“How much farther is it?” I mean, we were now in Mississippi. How much farther did we need to go?

Webb didn’t even glance at me. “Hour. Maybe more.”

“Is there, like, plumbing?” Looking around us at what was available, it was a pertinent question.

He shrugged. “Depends on your definition.”

“Oh god.” He didn’t answer—God or Webb.

When we finally turned off the main road—and by "main," I mean a barely-there strip of cracked asphalt—I had a sinking feeling in my gut.

That sinking feeling deepened when we got out of the truck, and I followed him on a trail that led tothe cabin, where I caught a glimpse of it through the moonlight.

And I say “cabin” generously. It was more like aglorified shack with wood paneling and emotional damage. The porch tilted, and the roof sagged slightly in the middle like it was tired of existing. The windows were the small, warped kind that let you look out but definitely didn’t let light in. I could see a stovepipe on one side and whatmight have been an outdoor shower stall hidden behind a clump of trees.

“This is it?” I whispered, hoping he was just pointing out a cabin with an interesting story before we got to the real one.

“This is it,” Webb confirmed, dropping what he was carrying on the ground. “No one will find you here.”