The envelope was black. Its paper felt strangely smooth, almost waxed, and the only thing written on the front was a pair of names in silver ink.
"Shirley Beaupre."
"Tucker Riley."
Inside, a single letter, the handwriting was neat.
"To the boys who have recently found themselves at the center of a very loud conversation,
Allow me to congratulate you.
It is not often that the world's attention settles upon two individuals so young, and yet so… interesting.
The Seven Kingdoms have done a remarkable job of ensuring that everyone now knows your names. I imagine that must feel rather overwhelming. Fame rarely arrives so abruptly.
Still, I find it refreshing.
After all, the world has been painfully dull for quite some time.
Which is precisely why I have decided to host a small gathering.
A celebration, if you will.
An evening where individuals of uncommon circumstance may meet one another without the suffocating oversight of cretin individuals, those who are dependent of technology, or the dull machinery of official authority.
You may find the company… enlightening.
There will be collectors of forbidden knowledge.
Hunters whose names circulate quietly among those who understand the business of survival.
Individuals who have been erased from records yet remain very much alive.
And, of course, a few who have recently been introduced to the world in rather dramatic fashion.
Naturally, I would consider it a personal pleasure if the two of you attended.
The location and time are enclosed.
Travel will not be an issue. Arrangements have already been accounted for.
All that remains is for you to arrive.
I do hope you will not keep your fellow guests waiting.
After all, it would be unfortunate if the evening began without the very people it was arranged to welcome.
Until then,
August
Host.
Your presence is expected."
Shirley sat cross-legged on the motel bed, the fan beside him rattling loudly as it pushed around warm air that did very little to help. Michael's diary rested open near his knee, his notebook filled with scribbled diagrams and half-finished thoughts.
But he wasn't looking at any of it anymore.
The letter rested in his hands.
He had already read it twice.
Now he was reading it a third time.
"…Huh."
The motel door suddenly burst open.
"THAT MACHINE IS A SCAM!"
Tucker stormed into the room, sweaty, annoyed, and holding two crushed soda cans like evidence from a crime scene.
Behind him, somewhere outside, a distant voice shouted something angry that sounded like an elderly landlord having the worst day of his life.
Tucker kicked the door shut with his heel.
"I swear, that stupid machine said it was out of stock even though the soda was RIGHT THERE. I could SEE it! And then the old guy came over and—"
He finally noticed Shirley staring at him.
"…What?"
Shirley didn't answer, he just slowly held up the letter.
Tucker squinted.
"What's that?"
"…Mail."
"We don't get mail."
"I know."
Tucker tossed the crushed cans into a nearby trash can and walked over, wiping sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his tank top.
"Is it from Doug?"
Shirley shook his head.
"…No."
Tucker took the paper from him, he skimmed the first few lines, then slowed down.
Then read the whole thing again, silence filled the room. Except for the sound of a fan rattling loudly between them.
"…So," Tucker finally said.
Shirley leaned forward slightly.
"Well?"
Tucker lowered the letter.
"I think someone just invited us to a party."
Shirley nodded slowly.
"That's what I thought too."
Another pause.
Tucker looked back down at the page.
"Wait."
His eyes moved across the words again.
"…Hunters?"
Shirley shrugged.
"Apparently."
"Collectors of forbidden knowledge?"
"Yep."
"People erased from records?"
"Uh-huh."
Tucker slowly lifted his head.
"This sounds like a terrible place."
Shirley tilted his head slightly, thinking.
"…It sounds interesting."
Tucker stared at him.
"No."
Shirley pointed at the letter.
"Look at how he talks about this Seven Kingdoms."
"That's not the important part!"
"Not only will we finally get to figure out what these Seven Kingdoms are, he says there'll be people there who know things the kingdoms don't want anyone to know."
Tucker rubbed his face.
"Oh my god."
Shirley leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"…What if someone there knows something about the diary?"
Tucker froze.
Shirley turned the letter slightly so the light hit it.
"There could be so much we don't know all at this one party!"
His eyes sharpened.
"That's exactly the kind of place where secrets end up."
Tucker pointed at the bottom of the page.
"What about THIS part?"
Shirley leaned forward again.
He read the final line out loud.
"'Your presence will be expected.'"
A quiet pause followed.
Tucker frowned.
"…That's kind of a weird way to say it."
Shirley shrugged.
"Probably just fancy wording."
Tucker read the line again.
"…Yeah."
Another silence settled in.
The fan clattered loudly.
Outside, a car drove past.
Shirley tapped the page thoughtfully.
"So…"
Tucker immediately shook his head.
"No."
"You didn't even let me finish."
"No."
"What if—"
"No."
"What if we just—"
"No."
Shirley crossed his arms.
"You're not even considering it?"
Tucker pointed toward the door.
"We are currently hiding in a motel because the entire world wants to collect money for turning us in."
He pointed at the letter.
"And now some guy named August wants us to go to a party full of hunters and criminals."
Shirley nodded.
"Yes."
Tucker stared at him.
"…You hear how that sounds, right?"
Shirley grinned slightly.
"Very educational."
Tucker groaned and collapsed onto the second bed.
"You're going to get us killed one day."
Shirley glanced back down at the letter.
His curiosity was already winning.
"…Maybe. Hey that's my line!"
His eyes moved across the name again.
August.
Then the final line.
"Your presence will be expected."
For some reason, he felt like the letter was staring back at him.
Tucker suddenly sat up.
"Fine then!"
Shirley's head snapped toward him.
"…Really?!"
Tucker dragged a hand down his face and pinched the bridge of his nose like the decision physically hurt.
"This is probably a terrible idea," he muttered.
Shirley leaned forward immediately.
"But…"
Tucker looked over at him.
"I did say we'd become answer finders, didn't I?"
Shirley blinked.
A slow grin began creeping across his face.
Tucker let out a long breath.
"So if this place is really full of hunters, criminals, and people who know things the kingdoms don't want anyone knowing…"
He lifted the letter and shook it slightly.
"…then that's probably where the answers are."
Shirley's grin widened.
"I knew you'd see it my way."
Tucker rolled his eyes.
"Don't get excited. We're still probably going to die."
Shirley shrugged.
"Worth it."
Tucker stared at him for a second.
Then, despite himself, he grinned.
"Well," he said, tossing the letter back onto the bed, "we're already worth a ridiculous amount of money to the entire planet."
"True."
"So if people are going to hunt us," Tucker continued, stretching his arms behind his head, "we might as well go somewhere interesting first."
Shirley laughed.
"I agree."
Tucker sat up again suddenly.
"Wait."
Shirley raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
Tucker pointed at him.
"We still have that cash Doug gave us, right?"
Shirley leaned back confidently.
"Oh, hell yeah."
Tucker's grin slowly spread into something far more dangerous.
"Good."
He stood up and grabbed his flip-flops.
"Because if we're going to a party full of the world's most wanted people…"
He opened the motel door.
"…we're not showing up looking like this."
Shirley jumped off the bed instantly.
A second later both boys were already halfway out the door. They both grabbed something that hung on the door as they walked out.
"Let's go shopping."
THE CITY PLAZA
Shirley and Tucker walked side by side through the crowded plaza.
Both of them were completely wrapped in long brown cloaks that stretched nearly to their ankles. The oversized hoods hung low over their faces, casting shadows over their eyes.
From a distance, they looked less like kids and more like two very suspicious monks.
Sweat poured down Tucker's face.
"Duuuuude," he groaned, tugging uselessly at the thick fabric around his neck. "Why the hell are we wearing these when it's hot as balls?"
The plaza buzzed with life.
Skateboards clattered over concrete ramps. Restaurant patios were packed with people eating and laughing. Storefront lights flashed advertisements in every direction.
But something else stood out.
Almost everyone had a phone in their hand.
Heads bowed, eyes glued to glowing screens.
People walked while scrolling, talked while scrolling, sat on benches while scrolling.
One guy was literally steering a car with one hand while watching something on his phone with the other.
Shirley wiped sweat from his forehead under the hood.
"We have to," he said. "What if we get recognized?"
Tucker threw his arms out dramatically.
"LOOK AROUND YOU!"
His voice echoed louder than he expected.
"Everyone is on their phone! Nobody is looking at anything! We could literally be on fire right now and no one would notice!"
Not a single person looked up.
Shirley leaned closer and whispered urgently.
"Shhh! Lower your voice! We're almost there."
Tucker groaned.
"If I pass out from heatstroke I'm haunting you."
They kept walking through the crowd, cloaks dragging slightly across the pavement.
Eventually the clothing store came into view across the plaza.
Large glass windows, bright lights.
And most importantly, air conditioning.
"Please have AC," Tucker whispered like he was praying.
A few more steps and they pushed the door open.
Instant relief.
Cold air washed over them like a blessing.
Both boys froze near the entrance.
Then at the exact same time,
"Ahhhhhhh."
They both let out long satisfied sighs.
Tucker pulled the hood off his head and shook his hair out.
"I can feel my soul returning to my body."
Shirley nodded seriously.
"This place is sacred."
They wandered deeper into the store, passing rows of jackets, shirts, gear and dress racks.
After a few minutes of laughing at passing shoppers, Shirley wandered toward the weapons section. His hand hovered over the display. One cleaver gleamed under the fluorescent lights, just the right size, sharp and balanced. He picked it up, spinning it slowly in his hands.
"…Finally," he muttered, a grin forming. He tested the weight carefully, imagining the feel of it in a fight. "This one's perfect."
Tucker leaned over, peering at it. "Man, you're obsessed."
"Obsessed? Pfft," Shirley said, slipping the cleaver into a sleek carrying case. "It's… preparation."
Eventually they reached a section of suits.
Tucker grabbed one off the rack and held it up to himself.
"…Do I look rich?"
Shirley stared at him for a second.
"You look like a waiter."
Tucker gasped in offense.
"Oh yeah? Well look at this."
He grabbed another suit and tossed it toward Shirley.
Shirley caught it awkwardly.
"Try it on."
Minutes later the two of them emerged from the changing rooms wearing completely different suits.
They both froze when they saw each other.
Then burst out laughing.
"You look like you're about to give a speech at a wedding," Tucker said.
"At least I don't look like a substitute math teacher," Shirley shot back.
Tucker dramatically adjusted an invisible tie.
"Class, today we will be learning about taxes."
Shirley grabbed another jacket from a rack and threw it at him.
Soon they were trying on different combinations, switching jackets, walking around like they owned the place, posing in mirrors, and judging each other's "fashion sense" with extreme seriousness.
At one point Tucker slid across the polished floor like he was entering a movie scene.
Shirley clapped slowly.
"Very dramatic."
"Thank you."
Eventually they both disappeared into the changing rooms one last time.
A few minutes later they came back out, now wearing their cloaks again.
Whatever they had chosen was carefully packed into a store bag.
Shirley carried it over his shoulder.
Tucker pushed the door open again.
The hot air of the plaza rushed back in instantly.
"…I hate this place already," Tucker muttered.
They stepped back out into the crowd.
And once again, not a single person looked up.
The walk back to the motel was quieter.
The sun had dipped lower, but the heat still clung stubbornly to the air. Tucker carried the shopping bag now, occasionally glancing inside it like he was checking that the contents hadn't magically disappeared.
Shirley walked beside him, flipping the black invitation card between his fingers.
"You think this August guy is real?" Tucker asked.
Shirley shrugged.
"He sent the letter."
"Yeah, but like… is he real real? Or some rich guy pretending to be mysterious?"
Shirley thought for a moment.
"If someone can invite half the world's criminals and bounty hunters to a flying party, I'm guessing he's pretty real."
Tucker grimaced.
"…Fantastic."
They reached the motel parking lot just as the sky began to turn orange.
The building looked exactly as depressing as it had earlier.
The same crooked sign.
The same flickering lights.
And the same empty soda machine lying on its side near the vending area.
The old landlord stood nearby, slowly sweeping up glass with the saddest expression imaginable.
Tucker immediately turned his head and walked faster.
"Don't make eye contact," he whispered.
Shirley followed without question.
They slipped into their room and shut the door behind them.
The fan still rattled loudly in the corner.
Tucker dropped the shopping bag onto the bed and collapsed beside it.
"So," he said, staring at the ceiling.
Shirley sat in the chair near the desk, holding the invitation again.
"So."
Silence hung in the room for a moment.
Then Tucker spoke again.
"You think people there will try to kill us?"
Shirley considered that.
"…Probably. But I hope not."
Tucker sighed.
"Good to know."
Shirley leaned back in the chair.
"But," he added, a small grin forming, "someone there probably has answers too."
Tucker rolled his head to look at him.
"…You're enjoying this way too much."
Shirley didn't deny it.
FIVE DAYS LATER
Night had settled quietly over the motel.
The parking lot was mostly empty, lit only by a flickering orange streetlight and the dull glow from the motel office window. Crickets hummed somewhere in the distance, filling the silence that hung over the quiet roadside building.
Inside their room, Tucker paced.
"You sure about this?" he asked for what had to be the fifth time.
Shirley sat on the edge of the bed, the black invitation card turning slowly between his fingers as his new cleaver turned in the other.
"Nope."
Tucker stopped pacing.
"…That's not comforting."
Shirley slipped the card into his pocket and stood up.
"Well," he said, adjusting the collar of his jacket slightly, "too late now."
Both of them had changed.
Their cloaks were gone.
Their old tank tops and casual clothes had been replaced by something far more… deliberate.
Tucker glanced at himself in the mirror one last time.
"…I feel like we look suspicious."
Shirley grabbed the small bag from the table.
"We are suspicious."
Before Tucker could respond, a pair of headlights suddenly swept across the motel curtains.
Both of them froze.
The lights slowly rolled across the room as a vehicle pulled into the parking lot outside.
The engine was quiet.
Too quiet.
Tucker slowly turned toward the window.
"…That's probably for us."
Shirley walked over and pulled the curtain back slightly.
A long black car sat idling outside.
Its windows were tinted.
Its paint reflected the streetlight like glass.
The driver's door opened.
A tall man stepped out, wearing a dark suit and white gloves.
He walked calmly to the back passenger door and opened it.
Then he simply stood there, waiting.
Tucker stared.
"…Well that's not ominous at all."
Shirley let the curtain fall closed again.
"Guess we're going."
A moment later they stepped outside.
The night air was cooler now, but the parking lot still smelled faintly like old asphalt and gasoline.
The driver gave them a polite nod but said nothing.
He simply gestured toward the open door.
Shirley slid into the back seat first.
Tucker followed, glancing around nervously before pulling the door shut behind him.
The driver returned to the front.
The car pulled out of the parking lot without a word.
For a while, no one spoke.
The road stretched dark and empty ahead of them as the city lights slowly faded behind.
Tucker leaned closer to the window.
"…Where exactly are we going?"
Shirley pulled the invitation card from his pocket and read the address again.
"Airstrip," he said.
Tucker blinked.
"Airstrip?"
The car continued down the empty highway.
Eventually the road turned.
Then again.
Streetlights disappeared completely.
The vehicle passed through a tall metal gate that slowly opened on its own.
Ahead of them, a massive hangar sat alone in the darkness.
The car rolled to a stop.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the hangar doors began to move.
A low mechanical rumble filled the night as the enormous steel doors slowly pulled apart.
Light spilled out from inside.
Tucker leaned forward slightly.
"…Is this it?"
Shirley didn't answer.
The doors continued opening.
Wider.
Wider.
Until the entire interior of the hangar became visible.
And inside, sat the plane.