The little tavern sat almost flush with the roadside, as though it had been set down there long ago and the forest had simply grown up around it. Dense trees pressed in on all sides, their dark silhouettes blurred by a light evening drizzle that softened the world into muted shades of gray and green. The tavern itself was painted a stark, almost unnaturally clean white, but even that brightness seemed swallowed by the mist. From a distance, it vanished into the haze entirely, only resolving into shape and detail once one drew close.

Behind it, the gray barn fared even worse. Its weathered boards blended so perfectly with the damp twilight that it appeared less like a structure and more like a suggestion; something glimpsed only when the rain shifted or the light caught just right. It gave the uneasy impression that if one looked away for too long, the building might simply be gone when they turned back.

The tavern had no electricity; that much had been made clear in the pre-arrival packet, but it was well stocked with lanterns, candles, and shelves of non-perishable foods. The weather carried a mild chill that hinted at colder nights to come, but several large stone fireplaces promised warmth if needed. Smoke stains above their mantels suggested they saw frequent use.

Two outhouses stood near the barn, dark wooden shapes hunched against the tree line. Even in daylight they looked uninviting. At night, with the rain and the woods pressing in, they would likely feel far worse. The path leading to them was little more than packed dirt already turning to mud under the drizzle.

The tavern itself, however, was clearly maintained. Windows were clean, shutters freshly painted, and the heavy wooden door hung straight on its hinges. It was not abandoned; merely unattended. By design.

The entire experience had been advertised as an immersive weekend mystery: a self-guided adventure where guests were left to explore, uncover clues, and unravel the story woven into the tavern and its surrounding grounds. The theme, printed in elegant script across the brochure, had read:

“Trapped in a Fantasy Novel.”

The idea was simple; or at least, it sounded simple. Arrive Friday evening. Spend three days solving puzzles, discovering hidden lore, participating in scheduled activities, and ultimately uncovering the truth behind the tavern’s story before Monday morning.

At least, that was the plan.

A small tour bus idled briefly on the roadside before the door hissed open, releasing nine would-be adventurers into the drizzle. Luggage was unloaded, umbrellas opened, and uncertain glances exchanged. They came from scattered cities across the United States; strangers bound together only by curiosity, or perhaps boredom, and in most cases, the single person they had arrived with.

Couples clustered naturally, gravitating toward one another with the comfort of familiarity. Quiet introductions formed in small pockets, tentative smiles and polite laughter filling the damp air.

Kyrie stood slightly apart.

She balanced her suitcase beside her while a heavy backpack tugged at her shoulders, threatening to pull her backward if she leaned even a little too far. She shifted her weight carefully, adjusting the straps for what felt like the tenth time, and resisted the growing fear that she might lose her footing and tip over like an overturned turtle in front of complete strangers.

Her partner for the trip had canceled at the last minute, work emergency, he’d said, and for a brief moment she had considered backing out herself. But the reservation had already been paid for, and she had been looking forward to the experience for months. So she had packed anyway, boarded the bus alone, and decided she would make the best of it.

Now, standing in the drizzle with eight strangers and a tavern that looked like it had been pulled straight out of a storybook, Kyrie found herself wondering whether this weekend would be awkward… memorable…

…or something else entirely.