Three little dots popped up on the screen, and then came the message.
Confirmed.
No flashy animation. No dramatic music. Just a quiet hum of data moving beneath the surface. Then a new screen appeared, clean and cold.
You have accepted, and your acceptance is regarded as an electronic signature on the contract that has been emailed to you. Please read the contract before you arrive.
You may not bring a guest.
You may not record, document, or disclose your location to anyone.
All cellular devices, tablets, and laptop computers will be collected upon arrival.
The rules, as detailed in the contract, are absolute.
Failure to comply means forfeiture of the prize.
You have one goal: survive the week without failing the only requirement… do not fall in love with the wrong person.
I read the line three times. It felt like a joke and a threat all at once. Mostly, it felt like a dare.
I set the phone down and stared at the half-packed suitcase on my bed. My hands were shaking, but my pulse had gone calm.
This wasn’t a maybe anymore. I was going to show up for the Game tomorrow, and I was going to win, come hell or high water.
For Granny Irene.
For the version of me that couldn’t sleep anymore without dreaming of drowning.
And maybe — maybe — for the part of me that wanted to touch and be touched without unnecessary complications.
I wanted to let go of all my responsibilities, save one: winning the game. Once the decision was made, I moved like I’d been handed a case file.
Clean. Precise. No emotion.
I sat at my desk, laptop open, fingers flying over the keyboard as I blocked off my calendar. I filed an emergency time-off request through the mediation center’s clunky internal system, citing ‘a family matter’ that needed my full attention. It wasn’t even a lie. Not really. I just didn’t say which part of my family. Or why.
Then I opened a tab and Googled the address I’d been given. Apparently, this ‘retreat’ would be taking place at the Old Stonewood Hunting Lodge, buried in the woods on the far outskirts of Stonewood.
I frowned at my computer screen.
“I thought that place had been closed down for years,” I murmured to my empty bedroom.
Odd.
I clicked between map and weather, checking the ten-day forecast like I was prepping for something normal. A cabingetaway. A solo reset. Except I wasn’t going to rest, I was going to win.
I shuddered when I saw the words ‘polar vortex’ and ‘potential for an ice storm’ in the forecast.Ick. I’d definitely have to pack my warmest clothes.
I guess the polar vortex didn’t get the memo that this is Alabama.
I double-checked my suitcase. Added gloves. A scarf. A flashlight. A portable charger, even though I knew they’d take my phone. It felt stupid not to bring one. Like not bringing a weapon to war.
I sat back and exhaled through my nose. I wasn’t scared… not really.
I was ready.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
