Alaska's Illicit

XXIV

Chapter 24 | ARCHERY PRACTICE

Vaughn's gone for the rest of the day.

I don't know where he's gone to or what he's doing, as I don't really care. I've just been reading all day, like usual.

My tablet is almost dead, and my phone has half a battery, so I'm reading an actual paperback book. I've missed reading paper books. There's something just so nostalgic about it to me.

I remember the times I would go lay out on the green grass in summer, not even caring how dirty I got. I just grabbed whatever Y.A. book I was obsessed with at the moment and spent the whole day reading through it under the shade of a tree.

Now, it makes me feel really lazy, just lying here on my stomach as I flip through some old poetry book I found on Vaughn's shelf.

But what else is there to do? I've already scoured practically every inch of the cabin for anything related to my uncle. And all I've ended up with is a big, fabulous nothing.

I mean...I suppose I could go to town tomorrow, a couple of days early.

Then, I could get a headstart on my amateur detective plan.

Best case, I find something and focus on that. Worst case, I end up in jail.

Or, maybe I'll end up just recharging my devices, buying some items, including some fascinating books of my choice, and I'll come back here once I feel better.

It would give Vaughn space, too. That would be good.

I decide that, as soon as Vaughn returns, I'll announce that I'm leaving tomorrow.

I doubt I'll even get a response, but at least he'll know.

How will I find my way back, though?

I'll have to ask him. Although...I'll probably have to do the same thing I did last time, with the ravens and the tree travel. So whatever I bring there and back, I should be able to carry while traveling through the trees.

I sigh, turning the page to the book entitled 'Lighthouse' by someone named A.I. Kun.

I frown, closing the book as I hear the door swing open.

This is the type of material he reads, huh?

Not going to lie...not at all what I was expecting.

Before I can sit up or say anything, however, I hear him ask: "Do you know how to shoot a gun? Bow and arrows?"

I turn around, sitting criss-cross applesauce to face him. He's perched slightly against the wooden end of the sofa, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. A small lock of hair falls in front of his face, but he doesn't bother to move it.

"Uh, no."

"You'll have to if you want to stay out here," he says, sounding as bored as possible.