"Oliver." Dad’s voice snapped me out of my staring contest with the possibly magical jewelry. The tourists were gone, the register drawer open. "Shouldn’t you be out terrorizing London’s traffic laws by now?"

  "Harry’s driving," I said, nodding at the case. "What’s the deal with that thing?"

  Dad followed my gaze. "Ah. That came in with a collection from some old duffer in Kent. Claims it was dug up near Avebury." He rolled his eyes. "Probably nicked from a goth kid in Camden, but the craftsmanship’s decent."

  I pressed a finger to the glass. The pendant seemed to... vibrate? "Take it if you want," Dad said, startling me. At my raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "Consider it compensation for listening to your mother rant about the dishwasher all morning."

  I turned the pendant over in my hand. "Not like it’s worth anything anyway," I muttered, mostly to myself. Then, remembering: "Oh, did Mom tell you? Might be heading out of town for a few days. Tonight or tomorrow."

  Dad leaned against the counter, wiping his glasses with that exaggerated care he used when about to say something embarrassing. "Just remember to carry the, you know..." He mimed pulling something from his wallet with meaningful eyebrows.

  I stared. "Condoms? Dad, I’m going with Ben, Max, and Harry. If I somehow get lucky with those lunatics around, it’ll be a miracle worthy of sainthood." My expression turned mournful. "At this point, I’d struggle to pull even a granny at bingo night."

  Dad barked a laugh, then grew uncharacteristically sincere. "You won’t find friends like them twice in a lifetime. However mad they drive you—literally and otherwise—hold onto that."

  A loud HONK HONK shattered the moment. We turned in unison to the window. Harry’s shitbox Honda Civic idled at the curb, backfiring like a donkey. He leaned out the window, giving my dad a salute so crisp it bordered on sarcastic, then shot me a grin that promised chaos.

  "Christ," Dad muttered. "That thing’s held together by duct tape and youthful optimism."

  "Don’t let Evie touch my art supplies," I warned Dad as I headed out. "Last time she ‘fixed’ my painting, I had to redo a week’s worth of work. I’ll probably be back by 4 PM."

  Dad nodded, chuckling. "No promises. You know how she gets when she’s bored."

  I rolled my eyes and stepped out onto Regent Street, the morning sun glaring off the pavement. Harry’s beat-up Honda Civic was idling at the curb, its exhaust coughing like an asthmatic chain-smoker.

  I slid into the passenger seat, tossing the bag of crisps at Max in the back. "Why the hell did nobody call me to be ready by 10:30?" I grumbled, buckling up.

  Ben, lounging in the back with his feet up, shot me a look of pure disbelief. "You really think you of all people would wake up to our call? Your own alarm can’t even wake you up. If you hadn’t shown up by 11, we were just gonna hang at your place till you dragged yourself out of bed."

  Harry, gripping the wheel like it might try to escape, glanced at Ben through the rearview mirror. "Never give up without trying, man."

  Ben snorted. "I don’t wanna hear that from you, the self-proclaimed leader of the Tinder Swindlers."

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Harry retaliated by cranking up the music—some obnoxiously loud indie-rock anthem that immediately drowned out any further protests. The bass rattled the windows as we pulled into traffic.

  "So," Max yelled over the noise, ripping open the crisps. "Where are we going right now? It’s 10:40—we’ve got till 2 PM before lunch. We can’t just drive in circles."

  I leaned back, thinking. "How about we hit that vintage arcade near Camden? They’ve got that old-school Street Fighter cabinet. Loser buys lunch."

  Ben perked up. "Only if we stop for coffee first. I need fuel if I’m gonna destroy you."

  Harry grinned, swerving into the next lane without signaling. "Done. But if we get another ticket, Oliver’s paying."

  I groaned. "Pray for me." The music blared, the engine wheezed, and London blurred past us—another day of questionable decisions, just getting started.

  The remains of our lunch—crisp packets, half-eaten sandwiches, and Ben’s mournfully empty wallet—littered the table as we finalized our plans. Max tapped his fingers against his phone screen, pulling up a map before declaring with all the gravitas of a general planning a siege: "Right, here’s the master plan."

  "We’re going to Wales for a few days—none of us have been, and it’s about time we got cultured beyond kebabs at 2 AM. But since none of us have ever seen Stonehenge either—you know, just one of the Seven Wonders of the damn world—we’re stopping there on the way."

  He zoomed in on the route, tracing the path with his finger. "It’s a five-hour drive total, but if we leave at 2 AM, we’ll hit Stonehenge right at sunrise. Perfect lighting, minimal tourists, and—let’s be honest—our best shot at not getting kicked out for being idiots."

  Harry nodded sagely. "Also, less traffic. And fewer witnesses if Max starts screaming about ‘the mystical energies’ again."

  Ben groaned, rubbing his temples. "Why are we doing this to ourselves?"

  The moment I walked through the door, Dad glanced up from his newspaper. "Trip’s happening," I announced. "Wales via Stonehenge. Leaving at 2 AM."

  Mom arrived home an hour later, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion as she dropped her bag by the stairs. She collapsed onto the couch with a groan that spoke volumes about her day.

  I seized the opportunity. "Long day?" I asked, moving behind her and digging my thumbs into the knots between her shoulder blades. She melted into the touch with a sigh. "Pretty much, if one more person asks for a ‘quick revision’ at the end of the day..."

  I worked the tension out methodically, earning a contented hum. "Mmm. Thank God."

  Mom tilted her head, cracking her neck. "You’re being suspiciously helpful. What do you want?"

  "Nothing!" I paused. "Okay, one thing—don’t let Evie near my art supplies. Last time she ‘helped,’ my watercolors looked like a unicorn exploded."

  Mom snorted. "I’ll hide the brushes. But no promises if Mrs. Gupta offers good money for your sketchbooks at the next yard sale."

  "You wouldn’t!" I exclaimed. Just then, I heard the door. "Mom, are you home?" Evie’s voice rang out.

  Immediately, I got an idea and told my mom about it. She sighed and asked, "Why do you two always want to fight each other?" A smile crept up my face. Evie, you are not ready for tomorrow.

  Despite three calls, Mom had to shake me awake at 1:30 AM. After completing my morning preparations, I couldn’t resist the mischievous impulse. With careful strokes, I adorned Evie’s sleeping face with an elaborate charcoal mustache and beard, the absurd contrast between her delicate features and the ridiculous facial hair nearly making me burst into laughter.

  Ben’s car arrived at 1:58 AM sharp. I stumbled into the backseat where Max was already asleep. Harry turned from the passenger seat. "Told you he’d need waking."

  Ben adjusted the mirror. "Buckle up. I drive properly, so you’ll hate it." The engine purred to life—no backfires, no rattles. Unsettling.

  The drive had been a blur of half-hearted singalongs and Max’s increasingly unhinged conspiracy theories about ley lines. We took some pictures on the way, even though it was dark. We still got some good ones with the night sky.

  By the time we pulled into the deserted parking lot, the sun was just about to come up into the sky, leaving Stonehenge bathed in a ghostly pallor. The stones loomed before us—silent, ancient, and somehow waiting.

  This looks great for a painting, I thought. Already off to an eventful journey.

  "Well, here we are," Harry muttered, killing the engine with a shudder that sounded suspiciously like relief. He stretched, his joints popping in protest after five hours crammed in his rust bucket Civic.