The path wound deeper into the trees, crunching softly beneath their shoes. Nina and Tristen exchanged quick, puzzled glances but kept following. The three strangers didn’t say much, only moved with the kind of purpose that made it clear they’d been here before.

And then, at last, the woods opened to something neither Nina nor Tristen could’ve imagined.

Nestled high in the branches of an enormous oak stood a treehouse, patched together with mismatched wood, twinkling with little strings of colored glass beads that caught the last bit of sunlight. The smell of cake and sugar floated down as though the tree itself had been baking. Strange little gadgets whirred and clinked from the walls, and the faint sound of metal winding down hummed in the air.

The trio stepped into a wooden elevator — really more like a platform with a rope and pulley — and gestured for Nina and Tristen to join. Awkward, hesitant, they obeyed. The elevator creaked and rattled as it rose, branches brushing close, until they finally stepped inside the hideout.

Up close, the place was even stranger. There were bits of jewelry strung along the walls, gears scattered across the floor, and in the corner, a plate of what looked suspiciously like fresh muffins.

The three kids turned to face Nina and Tristen. Their voices were steady, but only just.

“I’m Colin,” said the tallest, a smudge of grease streaked across his cheek.

“Stephenie,” added the girl with flour on her sweater, tucking a crumb-dusted curl behind her ear.

“And I’m Chloé,” said the one with earrings that caught the light, her words sharp but not unkind.

There was a pause. Then, almost at the same time—

“Nina Mondragón,” Nina mumbled.

“Tristen Albright,” he said quickly.

The treehouse seemed to hold its breath.

---