Tucked-up under those gnarly, wind-battered cliffs and green rolling hills, the villa looked like some half-secret lost thing. Warm, homey windows threw out yellow stripes between balcony beams—beach lights flickering while the ocean did its hush-hush shuffle on the sand. When everybody climbed out of the van, you could feel it—a group-wide exhale. That kind of breath where your chest still aches and your hands stay empty.
Naturally, Cherry was first out. Bolted for the veranda, squealing, "There's a hammock! And a swing! Wait—look, honest-to-god real waves!"
Ash busted out laughing, ruffled her head like she was still twelve. "Were you planning for CGI ones, or…?"
Meanwhile, East hooked Mick by the backpack and dragged him off to pick beds. "You're on the floor tonight, just so you know."
"Good luck with that," Mick fired back, already scheming some sort of midnight pillow-vendetta.
