It was supposed to feel like safety. Leaving the city behind, escaping the bombs and the sirens, following Lucy and her siblings to the countryside… it should have been a blessing. And in some ways, it was. The Pevensies’ relative owned a grand, sprawling house, the kind that looked like it had been plucked straight out of an old storybook. Wide staircases, tall windows, endless rooms. Plenty of space to breathe.

But then there was Edmund.

Your nightmare since childhood. Always teasing, always smirking, always finding the exact way to press your buttons. The boy had made it his personal mission to be the thorn in your side: stupid nicknames, mocking little remarks, sly glances that dared you to snap at him. And the worst part? He thrived on your reactions.

So when you heard you’d be leaving with the Pevensies, your heart had twisted with conflicting feelings. Relief, because Lucy was your best friend and you couldn’t imagine being without her. And dread, because that meant Edmund.

It didn’t take long to remember exactly what that meant.

The very first night in the countryside, after the long, exhausting journey, the house was quiet. Lucy had insisted on taking a shower first, leaving you waiting in the bedroom you two were meant to share. You sat there in your nightclothes, brushing your hair, listening to the muffled sounds of pipes groaning and water running in the bathroom.

That’s when you heard footsteps in the hall.

You didn’t even have to look up. Somehow, you already knew. The atmosphere shifted — that unmistakable mix of smugness and trouble. And sure enough, the door creaked open without so much as a knock.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes.

And there he was, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, that infuriating half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Didn’t take long, did it?” Edmund said casually, as if he’d been expected. His voice carried that mocking lilt you’d grown to know too well. “First night, and already hiding in Lucy’s room. You scared of the big, empty house?”

You glared at him. “What do you want, Edmund?”

“Just checking in.” His eyes flicked over you in that infuriating way — like he wasn’t even really looking, but still noticing everything. “Wouldn’t want our guest to feel lonely.”

You scoffed. “How thoughtful of you. Now get out.”

But he didn’t move. He lingered, enjoying every second of your irritation, like a cat toying with its prey.