Chapter 29

By midmorning, we’d already rejected two cabins, a barn, and a waterfall. David’s calm was wearing thin. I stood on the porch of the latest timber house, the boards creaking underfoot, and felt my pulse speed up.

“It isn’t ugly,” I said, scanning the weathered siding and the deep shadows between the pines. “It’s just… wrong for the story.”

He blew out a breath and paced, hands buried in his fleece pockets. Half the crew hovered behind us with clipboards and cameras, waiting for a decision. David stopped a few feet away. “It matches chapter twelve almost perfectly.”

“That’s why I hate it.” I pointed at a rotting plank. “This place screams ‘horror cliché.’ The moment you step on that porch, you’re braced for blood. Our cabin needs to feel safe—then shift beneath the audience, like they can’t trust their own feet. Here, there’s no surprise.”

Garrison, who’d been quietly inspecting a corner of the porch, finally spoke. “Explain.”

I folded my arms. “This set