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Sierra lets out a quiet laugh before turning to Kai. “Now, we write your names.”

Then her gaze flicks back to me, the same infuriating smirk in place. “I’ll be right back.”

Of course you will.

I flash her the fakest smile I manage, rolling my eyes even harder this time, making the others laugh.

“You’re really lucky, Thalia,” Aiden says, irony in his voice.

I fix him with an irritated look. “Maybe I’ll pick your name. Then we’ll see how lucky you feel.”

That only makes it worse. More laughter from them.

I take the glass from Theo’s hand and down the shot in one go, the burn barely registering. I don’t even know where it came from, probably left over from our game earlier.

“Done,” Sierra reappears, just as bright, just as thrilled with herself.

I don’t hesitate this time.

I reach out, grab a note, and turn it between my fingers before glancing at Aiden, giving him another overly sweet, completely fake smile as I begin to unfold it.

And the moment I see the name… everything stops.

My breath catches mid-inhale, sharp and sudden. A high ringing fills my ears, drowning out the room, while my heart slams violently against my ribs, climbing higher, higher, until it feels lodged in my throat.

No.

No, this has to be a joke.

My eyes snap to Sierra, wide, almost pleading, panic rising too fast to control. I shake my head once, barely able to process what I’m seeing.

“What does it say?” John asks, sounding like he’s caught up in some game, waiting for the final reveal.

Nick steps behind me, leaning forward to glance over my shoulder before saying, clear and firm—like he’s delivering a verdict, not just reading a name, “Ethan.”

“That’s…” I start, the words catching as I try to explain, to tell them this is not okay, that I want to draw another note, that this can't be how it ends.

But Sierra is already moving.

She disappears into the kitchen before I can finish, gathering the remaining papers with quick, efficient movements, tossing them straight into the trash, setting the bowl in the sink like the whole thing is already decided, already done, before returning to us as if nothing unusual just happened.

“Great,” Mathew says, clapping his hands once. “Let’s take everyone’s luggage to their rooms then.”

Nick’s hand lands on my shoulder, warm and steady, and I turn my head toward him, my chest still tight, breath uneven.

“I can’t share a room with Ethan,” I murmur, low enough that I hope no one else hears.

“Thalia,” he says, calm, patient, “he’s not going to be thrilled, but nothing bad is going to happen. You’ll see.”

Then he winks, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze—his version of reassurance, simple, direct—before reaching down, grabbing my suitcase, and heading toward the stairs where all the others are waiting for us.

Everyone starts moving at once, the group splitting naturally—the ones heading to the Thomas house already by the door, saying their goodnights, while the rest drift toward the stairs, climbing up toward their rooms like this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Come on, Thalia,” Sara tells me softly, her tone light, almost amused. “Ethan won’t do anything bad to you,” she adds, chuckling.

Oh my God.

If you only knew, Sara. If you had any idea.