As we play the game more people go out until it’s just Celeste with one card face down on the table in front of her, and Bennett with 3 cards in his hand but no remaining cards on the table. The group oohs as Bennett places an ace on the discard pile. The tension thickens as Celeste goes for her face-down card. She takes a deep breath before she flips the card face up on the pile and we all go crazy as she smirks at Bennett and raises her arm in triumph and says “I am not the village idiot!”

He throws his cards down, puts his head in his hands, and groans as the rest of us cheer at Bennett becoming our latest village idiot.

Bennett groans like he’s just suffered a tragic betrayal, his head in his hands as we all erupt into laughter. Theo’s doubled over, Orion’s pounding the table, and Celeste is basking in the glory of her win like she just won an Olympic gold medal.

“I demand a rematch,” Bennett grumbles, dragging his hands down his face.

“You demand nothing,” Orion corrects, smug as ever. “You are the Village Idiot. Accept your fate.”

Morgan smirks, leaning back against Orion’s chair. “This is what happens when you play without a strategy.”

“It was a strategy,” Bennett argues. “It just… backfired.”

Celeste grins wickedly. “That’s what makes it fun.”

The group dissolves into playful bickering, accusations of cheating flying, but it’s all in good fun. There’s an ease here now, one that hasn’t been present for a long time. No shadows lurking in the corners. No weight pressing down on my chest.

Just laughter. Just us.

I lean back against the couch, exhaling slowly. The warmth of the moment settles deep in my bones, wrapping around me like a familiar sweater. It’s strange how, for so long, I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel this again.

Not after the past few months.

Not after Aubrey.

The town’s still reeling from her arrest. It sent shockwaves through Shadow Grove—though, honestly, it shouldn’t have. I wasn’t surprised. Theo wasn’t. Neither were Orion, Morgan, or Celeste. But the town? The town couldn’t believe it.

All except Cassandra.

She had called it from the beginning.

“It’s just like the Greek myth,” she’d told me after the dust had settled, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Cassandra cursed to see the future but never be believed. History repeats itself.”

I’d laughed then because, of course, she’d compare herself to a tragic oracle from ancient times. But now? Now, I think she might have had a point.