“It’s only for a few months, Cat,” Savannah told me. “You don’t need to look so glum about it. Most people would kill to spend the summer at the beach.”

“People would kill for a lot of things,” I snapped. “Doesn’t make it worth it.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Savannah said softly. Rain began to splatter the windshield, so she flipped on the wipers. I ignored her attempts to make conversation after that, which wasn’t hard. She mostly pointed out various land forms we were passing, like she was reading out of an atlas.

“Look at that big rock,” she said. “Kinda looks like a dog, right? Or maybe a moose?” Despite being the Vice Captain of the Wondrous Twelve, Savannah had never been great at interpersonal relations. Having to drive me the entire eight hours to Canosa Cove was as much a punishment for her as it was for me. She’d been the one to recruit me, after all. She’d vouched for me. She’d defended me, time and time again, as my mistakes got worse and worse.

I looked at the dog-moose rock as we passed it, thinking that it didn’t look like much of anything. Next to it was a faded sign signaling that we’d entered what would be my prison: “Welcome to Canosa Cove! Population: 658”. The road curved to the right, and soon we were driving along the sea towards a line of compact, colorful buildings. I tried to focus on them instead of the dark waves crashing against the rocks. It was about what I had expected: a few mom and pop shops, a police station that looked tiny even from the outside, a kitschy bed and breakfast that my grandmother would’ve loved, and so on. Well, not “so on” for long. It was a small, small town, which made me wonder if the population count on the welcome sign hadn’t been overly optimistic.

The house where I was expected to stay was about a mile past the outskirts of town. It was a three-story, Victorian-style manor perched precariously on a cliff that overlooked a small inlet. It was only when Savannah rolled down the window to swipe us through the iron gates that I realized she’d given up on trying to talk to me a good while ago. A surge of wind flew into the car, spraying us with raindrops and sending Savannah’s flaxen hair flying into her face. I groaned and then yelped when she slammed on the brakes.

“Watch it!” I yelled. She wiped her face then looked over at me. After a moment, she spoke.

“Hard to do when there’s hair in your eyes. I couldn’t see a thing.” She rolled up the window, but didn’t drive.

“What? Change your mind about leaving me here?”

She tightened her grip on the wheel and peered forward. “I thought I saw something.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t see anything,” I replied, leaning back in the seat and regretting my decision to break my silence. Savannah pursed her lips but began driving again. I twisted around in my seat to watch the gate creak shut behind us. It's only for a few months. I knew that, and yet, it suddenly felt much longer.