The kitchen was small enough that the two of them nearly bumped shoulders just stepping inside. It looked eerily like a witch's pantry. Old cardboard boxes were stacked haphazardly against the walls, dried houseplants drooped sadly from mismatched pots, and fake cobwebs clung to every corner like someone had gone way too hard on Halloween décor.
To the left sat a chunky, old-fashioned stove wedged between two peeling countertops. Jars of herbs lined the surface, each one labelled in faded cursive. More bundles hung from the ceiling beams, casting shadows that danced like little ghosts.
"It looks exactly like the kitchen from 'The Widow's Tea,'" Acheron murmured, eyes sweeping the room in quiet awe. "The Window kept all her favourite recipes in a wooden box. All on small cards in her own handwriting…"
Aviv blinked at him. "Hold on—did you get a whole clue already? We literally just walked in."
Acheron shrugged, cheeks dusting pink. "I—I just remembered the story."
"Sure," Aviv teased. "Just remembered. Meanwhile, my brain is still loading the room textures."
Despite his joke, his instincts sent him straight to the oven. He yanked open the creaky door. "Damn! Take a look at this."
Acheron crouched beside him and found a chunky black safe wedged inside. He blinked. "That's so… weird."
Aviv immediately popped up and twisted the stove knobs like he expected something dramatic to happen.
Acheron raised a brow, trying not to smile. "What exactly was your plan? Bake the safe open?"
"I don't know!" Aviv defended, voice cracking as he tried to laugh it off. "Maybe it was a magical oven of revealing secrets. Don't judge my process."
Acheron gave a soft little laugh, and despite Aviv's best effort to smother his own, it bubbled out right after.
Once their giggles settled, they returned to hunting. Cabinets were opened. Shelves were rifled through. Plastic spiders were flicked aside with dramatic offence.
It didn't take long before Aviv gasped loudly.
Acheron spun around. "What? What is it?"
Aviv pointed triumphantly to a small wooden box tucked between a tea tin and a cracked bowl. Sunflowers were carved into the lid, giving off both delicacy and warmth.
Acheron reached for it with almost reverent fingers. As he lifted the lid, a faint scent of old paper drifted out. Inside lay a tidy stack of recipe cards, each written in looping handwritten notes.
He thumbed through them slowly. Some recipes he recognised, like apple crumble, honey cakes, but others were strange and somewhat poetic: Moonlit Broth, Dreamer's Porridge, Sweetheart's Sleep Tea.
He couldn't help it; his eyes softened.
This is beautiful, he thought.
Aviv leaned in, chin practically on Acheron's shoulder. "I bet you one of these recipes wants us dead."
Acheron giggled again, quiet but impossible to miss.
One of the recipe cards instantly stood out, not because of a beautiful illustration or poetic title, but because the poor thing looked like it had barely survived a house fire. The edges were scorched, the ink in places blurred beyond recognition. Acheron gently lifted it from the stack, as it might crumble in his hands.
Half the instructions were missing, but a few ingredients remained legible.
"Do you see any spice racks?" he asked, still focused on trying to decipher the card.
If he'd looked up, he would've caught Aviv standing in front of what could only be described as a chaotic shrine of seasonings, rows and rows of jars, probably over a hundred of them, stacked in no particular order. Aviv raised his arms dramatically at the absurdity of it.
"Yep. Found it," Aviv said, doing an impressive job of hiding his snort.
Acheron finally looked up… and froze at the sight of the spice-wall.
"Oh."
Complete silence held for a whole second.
Then both of them cracked a full, helpless laughter bouncing around the little kitchen until Acheron had to brace a hand on the counter to stay upright. Aviv wiped invisible tears from his eyes.
Once they regained control, they dragged the scorched card onto the countertop so they could study it. Aviv had to fold himself almost in half to get down to Acheron's height, nearly resting his chin on Acheron's shoulder.
"Only a few ingredient amounts are visible," Acheron murmured, leaning back slightly while still holding the card steady. "Let's pull out what we do know first. Maybe something will click."
"Sounds good to me," Aviv replied cheerfully, despite looking like he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to be doing.
He zipped along the spice rack, pulling jars down with quick, efficient movements. Some were stuffed with dried herbs, others filled with colourful powders. He lined them up like a little army across the counter.
Acheron inspected each one, hopeful— then confused— then quietly frustrated.
"I don't see any markings or symbols. Nothing," he sighed.
"Alright, what about the ingredients without measurements?" Aviv suggested. "Maybe they'll have clues."
Acheron hesitated. "Maybe…? There should be five total."
"I've got three," Aviv called out while rummaging again. "But I can't find the other two."
"The rosemary and thyme?"
"Yeah. They should be here but…" Aviv shook an empty section of the shelf dramatically, "—nothing."
Acheron leaned in, checking every bottle with quiet focus. Still nothing. As he rose, something overhead caught his eye: bundles of dried herbs dangling from the ceiling beams. The rosemary and thyme should be among them.
Acheron's face lit up, soft and bright. "Viv… found them."
Aviv looked up, then laughed so loudly he startled one of the fake cobwebs loose.
"Before Aviv could even calm, Acheron pushed himself up onto the counter with a soft grunt, balanced on his knees, then rose to stand. He stretched up on the tips of his toes, fingertips brushing the papery leaves.
"Whoa— hey— hey!" Aviv blurted, hands immediately flying to Acheron's calves as if he were catching a toddler about to yeet off a balcony. "Damn, be careful !"
Acheron snorted. "I'm okay. I won't fall."
"You say that like gravity takes requests," Aviv muttered, tightening his grip anyway. His eyes were wide, equal parts concerned and betrayal because Acheron had chosen height over common sense.
Acheron laughed under his breath. Aviv's worry was ridiculous and strangely… warm. "I could've asked you," he admitted sheepishly. "You'd reach this way more easily."
"Yeah, because I'm built like a coat rack," Aviv shot back. "Seriously, I could've done it."
"I know," Acheron replied quietly. "But… I wanted to get it."
Aviv's expression softened, just a flicker, before he huffed dramatically. "Okay, okay. Just don't— I don't know— get impaled by basil or something."
Acheron bit back a smile as he resumed sorting through the dangling herbs. "I'll try not to die tragically in a kitchen, thanks."
He finally tugged down a bunch of rosemary, then the thyme. As he lowered them, something caught his eye: a small tag tied to the rosemary's stem and a single black mark on it.
No, it wasn't just a mark but a number.
"Five," he breathed.
"What did you say?" Aviv asked, leaning in.
"Look, it's the number five." He flipped the thyme bundle toward Aviv, showing the small Roman numeral tucked into the twine. "The other one should be labelled too."
Aviv perked up. "Yes, another clue."
Back on solid ground, thanks entirely to Aviv still holding his legs until the last second. Acheron set the herbs with the other spices they'd pulled down earlier. As they examined each bottle, they noticed several had their own hidden numbers: scratched under the caps, penned faintly on labels, or even carved lightly into the glass.
"So now we've got numbers," Aviv said, crossing his arms, radiating confidence he absolutely did not have. "How the hell do we put them together?"
Acheron exhaled, tapping the recipe card's charred edge. "There's no order written. Half the steps are missing."
Aviv brightened with a flash of inspiration that looked suspiciously impulsive. "What if we arrange them in the order they show up in the recipe? Like just as the spices are listed."
Acheron hesitated. He wasn't completely convinced that was the right answer, but he also wasn't about to dismiss Aviv's ideas. "We can try it," he said gently.
They quickly dialled the sequence into the safe, but nothing happened. Not even a sympathetic click.
Aviv groaned, dragging both hands down his face. "I swear the safe just judged us."
Acheron gave a tiny, shy laugh."I didn't think it would work," he admitted. "But… it was a good idea."
Aviv glanced at him, surprised, and maybe a little warmed by the softness in his voice. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "if that wasn't the answer… then we try again."
Acheron nodded, his gaze slipping back to the numbers scattered across the counter. He stayed quiet, but the determination in him hadn't dimmed for a second.
Acheron decided to return to the one thing that had never let him down today: the battered children's book. He'd left it on the fireplace mantle, exactly where he'd dropped it earlier in excitement. He grabbed it, thumb brushing over the frayed spine, and tried the most obvious thing first, the publication number or date… anything that resembled a code.
The safe didn't so much as blink.
"A rude little box," Aviv muttered behind him.
Acheron only sighed, long and heavy, and dragged a kitchen chair toward the counter. His legs were tired; he hadn't stopped moving for… he'd lost track. He dropped into the seat with a soft huff, setting the book in front of him. The illustrations were starting to blur together. If he saw one more smiling woodland creature, he might actually scream.
Regardless, he forced himself to flip through it again. Slowly and carefully, he didn't want to miss something important.
Page after page, his eyes finally snagged on something he hadn't paid attention to before: tiny wooden boxes hidden in the drawings. He found one tucked behind a tree trunk, half-buried in sand or peeking out from behind curtains. Not on every page… but on enough of them.
Which feels very deliberate.
"Oh," he breathed, sitting up straighter, his version of excitement.
"What? Did the raccoon confess?" Aviv asked, leaning over his shoulder like an excitable golden retriever.
Acheron ignored the commentary, grabbing a pen and scribbling down the page numbers where all the boxes appeared. There were just enough of them to match the digits needed for the safe's lock. His pulse quickened. He pulled Aviv toward the safe; he didn't so much as walk with him as completely tug him like an impatient kid dragging a parent to see something cool.
"Try this," Acheron said, knees bouncing slightly.
The code was entered, followed by a beat of silence.
Click.
The safe popped open.
Aviv let out a triumphant whoop, then scrubbed his hand through Acheron's hair, messing it up affectionately. "Look at you. Little genius."
Acheron ducked his head, ears warming. "Stop," he muttered, but he wasn't actually annoyed, just a little shy.
Inside the safe lay a single ornate key resting atop a folded note. Aviv lifted the key with a reverent whistle, then handed the note to Acheron without hesitation, like he already knew this part was his.
The paper was thick, old-fashioned, and on it was a single line written in delicate cursive:
To reach the heavens, the hearth needs warmth.
Acheron read it twice. Then again. Then a fourth time, mumbling the words under his breath. It didn't fit anything in the children's stories. So this was a riddle on its own.
He focused on the first half of the riddle.
"To reach the heavens…" He frowned, thinking aloud. "Heaven is considered to be in the sky, and the sky is above... Above," Acheron voice trailed, the small from between his eyebrows deepening. "So… the attic? To reach the attic."
"That sounds very 'secretly a genius' of you," Aviv said proudly.
Acheron's chest warmed at the praise.
He moved to the second half. "'The hearth needs warmth.' Well, hearth is just an Old English word for… fireplace." His eyes lit. "So the fireplace needs to be lit."
The joy hit him in a quick, unguarded burst. He actually made a tiny hop as he stood, an involuntary little bounce of triumph, before rushing out of the kitchen.
Aviv jogged after him. "Wait for me, speedy—"
They reached the large fireplace. Acheron knelt, peering inside with earnest focus. "We should light it," he said, glancing around for the matches.
Aviv patted his pockets, then the mantle, then checked under a book as if the matches had decided to relocate on their own. "We literally used them like thirty minutes ago. Where the hell did they go? The house ate them... I swear this place is alive."
Acheron was already scanning the area, though he didn't seem nearly as offended by the disappearing matches as Aviv did.
Aviv dropped to his knees, then flat-out sprawled onto the floor so he could wedge his head deeper into the fireplace. Acheron watched him for a second, slightly horrified, slightly endeared. Aviv was two centimetres away from soot-kissing the bricks.
But Aviv's idea turned out to be perfect.
"Achie, check this out!" he called, voice muffled. His shoulders were shaking, not from effort, but from trying not to laugh.
Acheron sighed fondly and sat down right beside him, scooting close until he could peer inside, too. To his utter surprise, he saw a metal plaque bolted onto the back wall of the fireplace.
In bold, all-caps letters:
[DON'T SET THE LOGS ON FIRE]
Acheron blinked, and Aviv lost it.
He exploded into laughter so violently that he smacked the back of his head on the stone. Acheron tried, tried so hard, to keep a straight face, but the wheezing noises coming out of Aviv killed whatever composure he'd been holding onto. His laugh burst out of him in a warm, helpless wave.
"How... how many times," Aviv gasped between hysterical snorts, "have people actually lit the damn thing? Enough to need a whole-ass plaque?!"
Acheron couldn't breathe; his stomach was cramping. He folded forward, one hand clutching Aviv's arm for balance, the other clutching his ribs. "It must not've helped much," he panted, "if they had to literally hide the matches from us. The room's, like—traumatised."
Aviv collapsed sideways, laughing all over again.
Acheron ended up flat on his back on the wooden floor, tears in his eyes, hiccuping giggles until it felt like his whole chest ached. Aviv draped an arm across his own stomach dramatically.
It took them forever to calm down; it was hard to control their messy and scattered breaths, but eventually the world stopped shaking with laughter long enough for them to continue.
Still smiling, they explored the inside edges of the fireplace. Aviv poked around recklessly; Acheron checked more carefully, fingertips trailing the stones until—
"Here." Acheron pressed a hidden switch tucked high in the right corner.
Immediately, warm coloured lights in red, orange, and gold flared to life beneath the fake logs, creating a glowing illusion of fire. A soft chime rang out, followed by the heavy grinding of gears overhead.
Both of them looked up just in time for a trap door to slam open, dropping down a wooden staircase.
Aviv slapped Acheron's back. "Hell yeah!"
Acheron huffed a laugh, cheeks flushed with excitement.
They climbed quickly, the adrenaline of discovery sparking between them. At the top was the attic, the smallest room they'd been in yet, but also by far the most breathtaking.