Chapter 5

The lake had always been their place.

Ever since they were children, they had ended up here whenever life became too loud or too complicated. It was where they had planned impossible futures, laughed over ridiculous gossip, and spent entire afternoons talking about nothing at all. The old wooden bench beneath the liquidambar tree had become as familiar to Minnow as her own bedroom.

The walking track is quieter than usual despite the warm autumn morning. Golden leaves drift lazily from the trees overhead, collecting along the gravel path as joggers and dog walkers wander past at an unhurried pace.

Near the entrance, a little pink coffee van stands beneath a towering maple tree, its windows fogged from the stream of hot drinks being poured.

"I'll get these," Saylor says before she can reach for her wallet.

"You always say that."

"Because you're terrible at letting people spoil you."

"I let you spoil me all the time."

He grins.

"Exactly."

By the time he returns, he is balancing two takeaway coffees and a paper bag that smells faintly of butter and cinnamon.

"No pancakes," he announces dramatically as he hands her the bag. "You'll have to settle for homemade cookies."

Minnow smiles.

"I think you'll survive."

"That's optimistic."

She laughs quietly, and for the first time all morning it doesn't feel forced.

They wander down the winding gravel path, taking their time. The lake gradually reveals itself through the trees until it opens before them, perfectly still beneath the pale autumn sun. The water reflects the changing colours of the surrounding trees so clearly that it almost looks like another world resting beneath the surface.

"It's beautiful," Saylor murmurs.

"It always is."

The words escape before she realises she's spoken them.

Everything else in her life seems to change.

The lake never changes.

After a while she slows her pace.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly.

Saylor glances sideways.

"For what?"

"For before."

He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he nudges her shoulder with his own, just enough to make her stumble half a step.

"I thought I was ready."

"You were."

She frowns.

"I had a panic attack."

"You still tried."

She looks down at the gravel beneath her feet.

"I barely made it inside."

"Last week you wouldn't even leave your bedroom."

She looks up.

"Today you made it to the mall."

He shrugs.

"I call that progress."

A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of her mouth.

"You always know what to say."

"No."

He smiles back.

"I just know you."

The path narrows as they approach the far end of the lake. Hidden behind a wall of overgrown shrubs, a small opening leads to the clearing they had claimed years ago.

Their bench waits beneath the liquidambar tree exactly as it always has, surrounded by leaves burning brilliant shades of amber, crimson and gold. The branches stretch over the water, their reflections rippling softly whenever a breeze disturbs the surface.

Minnow slips her phone from her pocket.

"You know..." Saylor sighs dramatically. "One day you're going to have thousands of photos of exactly the same tree."

"It changes."

He looks up at the canopy.

"It does?"

She nods.

"Every season."

She lifts the camera and takes another photograph.

"The light changes."

Click.

"The colours change."

Click.

The last picture lingers on the reflection dancing across the water before she lowers the phone.

For a long moment neither of them speaks.

The silence settles around them naturally, as comfortable as it has always been.

Minnow accepts her coffee from Saylor before sitting on the weathered bench. The wood creaks softly beneath their weight as they look out across the lake.

It should feel peaceful.

Instead, her thoughts wander back to the dream.

To the voice.

To the name that refuses to leave her alone.

"Have you ever heard of Moonfall Pack?"

Saylor turns towards her.

"Yeah."

He takes a sip of coffee before continuing.

"It's a little mountain town a couple of hours from here. Why?"

Minnow shrugs, trying to sound casual.

"I heard someone mention it."

"When?"

"I don't remember."

That much, at least, isn't a lie.

"I just got curious."

"My cousin Elias delivers produce there every week."

She looks at him.

"He says it's beautiful. Apparently everyone knows everyone."

"And they call it a pack?"

Saylor laughs.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"No idea."

He takes another bite of his cookie.

"Maybe it’s a cult."

She nudges his shoulder.

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

He swallows.

"Actually..."

He thinks for a moment.

"I think the guy running the town is called Miles Carter."

The name settles somewhere inside her.

She finds herself repeating it silently.

Miles Carter.

"What?"

Saylor asks.

She realises she has gone quiet.

"Nothing."

She looks back across the water.

"Who is he?"

"I'm not really sure."

He shrugs.

"Elias likes him."

"Likes him?"

"Says he's fair."

Another pause.

"Good to do business with."

Minnow nods absentmindedly.

For some reason the name refuses to leave her alone.

"So if it isn't a cult..."

She glances back at him.

"Why call it a pack?"

"No clue."

He smiles.

"I'll ask Elias if you want."

She answers a little too quickly.

"I do."

Saylor looks at her more carefully this time.

"You seem awfully interested."

She forces a small shrug.

"I told you."

"I'm curious."

He holds her gaze for another second before nodding.

"Alright."

He doesn't believe her.

But he lets it go.

Minnow looks back across the lake.

The water remains perfectly still, reflecting the cloudless sky with almost unsettling precision.

Without meaning to, she imagines throwing a stone into the centre of it.

Watching the surface fracture.

Watching the calm disappear.

She frowns.

Where does that thought come from?

“What time is your fitting?” Saylor asks.

Minnow glances at the time on her phone.

Her eyes widen.

“Oh no.”

She shoots to her feet so quickly that a handful of leaves scatter from the bench.

"What?"

"I'm late."

"How late?"

She groans.

"Late enough that my mother is probably planning my funeral."

Saylor laughs as he stands, brushing leaves from the back of his jeans.

"Then we'd better save you."

They make their way back quickly.

Henry is already waiting beside the car, hands folded neatly in front of him.

“Where to, Miss Minnow?”

“Home, please.”

The Venandi mansion comes into view sooner than she would have liked, its pale stone walls gleaming beneath the afternoon sun, elegant and imposing against the surrounding gardens.

Her eighteenth birthday is only a few days away. For most families, it means presents, cake and celebration.

For Dovie, it means perfection.

Every flower, every napkin and every name on the guest list has been discussed, rearranged and discussed again until half the town seems destined to attend.

Minnow's stomach tightens.

Henry brings the car to a gentle stop outside the front entrance.

"Thank you," she says as she climbs out.

Saylor follows her onto the driveway.

"Call me tomorrow?"

"I promise."

He pulls her into a quick hug before stepping back.

"Take care of yourself, Minny Moo."

She wrinkles her nose.

“Don't call me that.”

He grins.

“See you tomorrow.”

She watches his car disappear through the front gate before turning toward the house.

The moment she steps inside, she knows she's in trouble.

Dovie and Elvira Wanderwalt, the most sought-after dressmaker in town, wait at the top of the stairs.

Minnow slows.

Her mother's expression says enough.

Late.

Again.

“I'm sorry,” Minnow says as she climbs the stairs. “I lost track of time.”

Dovie doesn't respond. She turns and walks into the dressing room.

The room feels more like a private boutique than part of a house. Soft cream walls reflect the afternoon light pouring through tall windows, while full-length mirrors line the space between antique wardrobes filled with carefully covered gowns.

In the centre of the room stands her birthday dress.

It catches the light so beautifully that for a moment it almost seems to glow.

Silver silk cascades from the mannequin in soft, effortless folds, each tiny crystal stitched into the fabric catching the sunlight like droplets of rain.

"It is stunning," Elvira says with quiet satisfaction.

Minnow can only nod.

It is beautiful.

She simply isn’t sure the girl it was made for still exists.

"What are you waiting for?" Dovie asks sharply.

"Go and change."

Minnow disappears behind the carved wooden privacy screen, placing her folded clothes carefully over the back of a chair.

She catches sight of herself as she reaches for the dress. The bruises are still there, faded but visible.

"Mother..."

Dovie looks up.

"Would you mind asking Ariella for a glass of water? I've had a headache all afternoon."

A flicker of irritation crosses Dovie's face, but she turns towards the door without arguing.

It closes behind her.

“Let me help you.”

Elvira's quiet voice makes Minnow jump.

She doesn't realise the dressmaker has stepped around the screen.

Minnow nods silently.

The silver fabric slips over her shoulders like cool water, settling against her skin with surprising weightlessness.

Elvira's eyes linger for a moment, but she says nothing. Instead, she moves behind her, fastening the tiny buttons one by one with practised fingers.

"There," she says softly.

Minnow steps out from behind the screen.

The mirrors catch her from every angle.

The dress is breathtaking.

It shimmers with every movement, the fitted bodice flowing into layers of silver silk that drift around her ankles.

She barely recognises herself.

“You've lost weight,” Elvira says, making another note in her book.

“Are you intending to lose any more?”

Minnow shakes her head.

“No.”

“Good.”

Voices drift back through the hallway.

Dovie is returning.

Almost instinctively, Minnow steps back behind the screen and reaches for her clothes.

The dress slides from her shoulders before she has truly looked at herself in it.

She doesn't want to wear it anymore.

By the time Dovie returns carrying a glass of water, Minnow is already dressed again.

She heads towards the door.

“Minnow, darling.”

Dovie places the glass in her hands.

Minnow looks down at the condensation gathering on the crystal.

She smiles.

"Oh," she says lightly. "I forgot."

She accepts the water, thanks her mother, and takes a small sip.

It is the same smile she always wears.

Polite.

Convincing.

Entirely false.