The sketch of the chest lay on the bar as Martin stared at the drawing. It seemed clear the design changed a few times since Kennedy redrew some parts; the page looked slightly splotchy. The box appeared so real, if not just for white; black and gray colors, you could easily confuse it with a physical item.

The top of the chest had a three-petaled flower design and the corners of the box held rustic screws. Three-dimensional illustration forced Martin to stroke the page.

"And what is so special about that box?" Martin asked, lifting his eyes from the drawing. Kennedy bit the right corner of her bottom lip and stayed silent. "What is in the box, K?"

"What's in the box, what's in the box?" Dylan said in a sing-song voice, earning glares from his friends.

"It has something that I need," Kennedy calmly said, traveling back to the stove. "We will talk more tomorrow." She stirred the pot, trying to even her breathing. "Go set up the table."

"We can just talk now," Martin said, glancing between her and Dylan.

"Let's go prepare the table," Dylan suggested and patted Martin's shoulder.

"Giving up so easily?" Martin asked, looking at Dylan. "It's not very like you." He swiftly lifted his eyebrow.

"Maybe I changed," Dylan laughed, standing up from the stool.

"Sure, you did," Martin mumbled, following his friend.

While Kennedy finished preparing spaghetti with her special sauce, the guys began to set the table in the living room. The topic swiftly changed to small talk as guys traveled between the kitchen and living room, carrying dishes to the table.

The place seemed hot, Kennedy took off her sweater, tossing it on one stool just before reaching the living room. Satisfied with the table setting, she grabbed a bottle of red wine from the bar.

Dylan stood near the fireplace, adjusting a tune on his phone. Hushed instrumental music appeared as Kennedy placed the bottle on the table.

"Bordeaux," Dylan read the label, picking up the bottle. "How adult of us." He laughed.

"Not all of us like Sake," Kennedy said, lifting her eyebrow and sitting down on the carpet.

"I remember you liking Sake," Dylan said and put back the bottle. "In fact, you liked it a lot, when you visited Japan." He smirked, squatting on the couch.

"Right," Martin said and nodded. "Tell me more about the trip." He applied to Dylan.

"I'm sure K, told you all about it," Dylan said, glancing at Kennedy as she opened the bottle.

"Not really," Martin said, lifting a fork. "Mainly the site she visited and touristy stuff." He swirled spaghetti around the fork.

"That is what I did," Kennedy added, glancing at Dylan and pouring the wine into cups. "Touristy stuff."

"But you guys met?" Martin asked, chewing a bite.

"Like I said, briefly, a few times," Kennedy answered as Dylan opened his mouth.

"Right," Martin said with a nod. "So, what did you guys do?"

Kennedy gulped wine as Dylan stared at her. Both of them felt not prepared for the questioning. This seemed the last thing Kennedy needed right now. They agreed not to talk about the two weeks she spent in Japan. She felt confident Dylan won't say anything, but it still felt awkward. She finished her drink and refilled the cup swiftly.

"Site seeing and similar things," she finally answered.

"We did so much more than that," Dylan said and laughed, taking his drink. Kennedy glared at him as he continued to talk. "I'm a local, so she saw way more than any other tourist did," he explained.

"Like?" Martin asked, lifting a cup.

"We went to clubs, restaurants, and some amazing parks," Dylan explained. "I think we should address the elephant in the room." He finished his talk along with his wine.

Kennedy's eyes widened. She gulped on the air while preparing for the worst. The guys seemed concentrated on each other. It felt difficult to read Dylan's expression as she stared at him. She trusted him, and they kept some secrets from Martin for years. As her heartbeats increased, she felt daunted and paralyzed.

"And that would be?" Martin asked, with obvious interest.

"I'm sorry I didn't come to the wedding," Dylan said, placing an empty cup on the table. "It took me years to make peace and to get over it." He gulped. "I'm not over it, yet." He poured the wine into his glass. The liquid splashed to the surface of the table, leaving small red droplets.

"I get it," Martin admitted, placing his palm on his chest. "Stacie didn't, well I didn't tell her anything about that, so that's probably why." He leaned back on the sofa.

"I swear not to get back here," Dylan explained and leaned back on the sofa's backrest. "But it's a lot of money, and honestly, I thought I was fine." He sipped on the wine.

"Are you?" Kennedy asked, grabbing an empty wine bottle. Her breathing steadied, and she relaxed as soon as the topic shifted.

"Yeah, sure," Dylan answered. "Besides Martin could visit Japan," he said and patted Martin's shoulder. "Maybe Stacie would like it too, K loved it." He shrugged his shoulders.

"You know I can't," Martin reminded him and shook his head, holding the cup with both hands.

"Still?" Dylan asked, surprised.

"Stacie was not happy about it either," Martin said and gulped on wine. "Honeymoon in driving distance from home wasn't an ideal getaway for her." He laughed.

"You know airplanes are probably safer than cars," Dylan said and glanced at Kennedy as she came back with another wine bottle.

"And yet my dad died in a plane crash," Martin reminded them.

"And mine in a car crash," Dylan noted.

"No dead parents talk," Kennedy said. "How is your mum, by the way?" She poured wine into jugs.

"Engaged, actually," Martin replied, taking a cup.

"No surprise," Dylan said, earning a glare from Martin. "Fine, I won't say anything," he mumbled, burying his nose in the cup.

As a third wine bottle stood empty and food was partially eaten, the group started to clean up the table. Catching up seemed rewarding, Kennedy thought, placing plates into the sink. It felt like old times, not just the chatter. The cabin always appeared welcoming, and so many memories remained here, or so she now thought.

"Do you guys remember when Helena threw up into Calix veriverbium?" Kennedy asked, cleaning crumbs from the bar with a dishtowel. A smile adorned her face from a mere recollection of that evening.

"Who threw up where?" Dylan asked, placing cups on the bar.

Kennedy's eyes widened. She tried to count how many glasses of wine she had. She got restless and relaxed too much. Martin joined them near the bar. He yawned with a light sound as Kennedy threw away the crumbs.

"What are we talking about?" Martin asked in a drowsy voice.

"Not sure," Dylan said and glanced at Kennedy. "About some chick named Helena."

"Who?" Martin asked. "You know, I don't care," he added. "I'm so tired or drunk." He looked up at the wooden ceiling. "I will go to sleep. How many rooms do we have here?"

"There are four, but one is for storage, as they said." Kennedy felt relieved the topic shifted. "You can pick whichever you want."

"Good night then," Martin said and turned his back on them.

"Shower is at the end of the corridor," Kennedy yelled as Martin took his bag from the side of the couch.

Martin nodded and climbed upstairs. Kennedy continued cleanup, feeling Dylan's sight following her every move.

"You can go to sleep too," she said, throwing away food leftovers.

"Who is Helena?" Dylan asked.

"What?" Kennedy replied.

"Don't play games, K," he said, sitting on the stool. "You heard my question."

Her demeanor changed once more, Kennedy's leg muscles felt stiff, and her shoulders tensed. She seemed unsure of what to say, or how much to say. Eventually, she will have to tell them everything. Helena, Hayden, and resurrectionis arca.

"We went to school with her," she said, deciding to tell everything later.

"I don't remember the name," he responded, squinting his eyes.

"Maybe you forgot," Kennedy said and tossed a towel on the countertop. "I'm going to sleep."

Kennedy walked toward the living room, passing Dylan. "We should talk," he said, grabbing her hand.

She stopped and glanced at him over her shoulder. "About what?"

"You didn't tell him," he stated, glaring into her eyes.

"We agreed, we won't tell anyone," Kennedy reminded him and glanced at his hand, holding hers.

Dylan let go of her hand. "I thought you told him."

"Why would I?" she asked, moving toward the stairs. "You said it meant nothing."