My phone buzzed for the third time in two hours. Hannah's persistence was undefeated, and I knew I couldn’t dodge her any longer. With a sigh, I jabbed the answer button and forced a bright tone.

“Hey, Hannah! Yeah, I’m aware. I’m just walking out the door now,” I said, glancing down at my sweats and sports bra.

“You hadn’t forgotten, right?” she asked, her tone dripping with suspicion.

“How could I?” I replied with exaggerated sarcasm. “What with the calls, the texts, the three voicemails, and that oh-so-subtle midday email. I was occupied, but I’m leaving. Now. I swear.” I jingled my keys for effect, adding the sound of the door clicking open and shut like an Oscar-worthy performance.

“You better be, Livy,” she whined. “You know how long I’ve been waiting.”

“Twenty minutes,” I shot back, snatching a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the back of the recliner. I gave them a quick sniff—passably clean. Good enough.

“Fifteen minutes, or I’m coming to get you,” she threatened.

“On my way. Almost there,” I lied, hanging up as I dragged a brush through my tangled hair. Bag in hand, I bolted out the door.

Third grade. That’s when my fate was sealed. Hannah and I, BFFs. Emphasis on the “forever,” because apparently, that means a lifetime of glitter, pointy ears, and anything remotely resembling a mythical creature. Fairies, elves, unicorns, dragons—if it sparkles or breathes fire, Hannah’s all over it.

Consequently, my passport should have stamps from every Comic Con, fantasy fest, and Renaissance faire this side of the Mississippi. I’ve developed an involuntary eye twitch at the sound of a lute.

Look, I appreciate her commitment to the fantastical. Truly. But there’s a limit to how many times I can feign interest in a thirteen-year-old’s painstakingly crafted Lego-fied Middle-earth. My fantasy tolerance? Deceased. Six feet under. Pushing up daisies.

But it’s Hannah’s birthday, and the sacred vows of friendship apparently dictate that I sacrifice my sanity at the altar of her elven overlords. So here I am, willingly (ha!) embarking on a “Dragon Hunt” through New York City. Because nothing screams adulthood like chasing actual little flags while progressively getting hammered. It’s a grown-up scavenger hunt, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. I’m fully expecting my future self to send me a very strongly worded letter of disappointment tomorrow morning.

I hailed a taxi in front of my building, hoping traffic wouldn’t be a nightmare. Hula Hans was only five blocks away—a distance I could’ve walked—but time was of the essence. Thankfully, the trip only took seventeen minutes. I tipped the driver generously for his speed and stepped out, nearly colliding with Hannah.

“Olivia Page Graystone,” she announced with dramatic flair, my full name dripping with judgment.

She only uses my full name when she’s mad or disappointed in me. Otherwise, it’s Livy or OP—short for the first letters of my first and middle name.

“You almost missed the rules, and you’re late, by the way,” Hannah said, crossing her arms like a scolding parent.

I smiled at my friend. She’s so serious when it comes to her fantasy world. “I’m here, aren’t I?” I replied, brushing off her tone. “Let’s get in there before we miss the rules entirely.” I shooed her toward the door.

When we reached the entrance, the bouncer held out his hand for our IDs.

“You know I’m the same age as you, Blaz,” I said, rolling my eyes as I handed mine over.

The big guy just shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just doing my job, Liv. You know the boss will kill me if he catches me slacking.”

I took my ID back and patted his arm. “Gotcha. By the way, Tate said you owe him a hundred bucks from that game you lost.”

Blaz smirked, shaking his head. “I didn’t lose the game. You tell that no-good brother of yours I don’t pay cheaters.”

Blaz and my twin brother, Tate, had been best friends since they could walk. It was the kind of love-hate relationship that involved constant trash-talking, but either one of them would drop everything if the other needed help.

“Okay, okay,” I said with a grin. “I’ll pass the message on.”

Hula Hans was absolutely packed tonight. There was no way this many people were here for the game. I stood in the crowd with Hannah, who was decked out in her cherry blossom fairy dress, complete with oversized wings and a pair of elf ears. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a Tolkien novel.

“I thought you said you’d wear the outfit I bought you last year,” she whined, giving me the same look she used to guilt-trip me into attending these events in the first place.

“Sorry, Han. I’ve been busy all day—I didn’t have time to dig it out.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a pair of elf ears, sticking them on. “But I still have these.”

That seemed to appease her because she gave a satisfied nod and turned her attention back to the stage.

A tall, thin man dressed as a knight stepped into the spotlight. His costume was elaborate—gleaming chainmail that caught the light, a flowing red cape, and a sword strapped to his side. He carried a scroll in one hand and wore an expression so serious you’d think he was about to announce a royal decree.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” he bellowed, unrolling the scroll with a dramatic flourish. “It has been said that the dragons have escaped and are now running amok in Manhattan! Your quest, brave adventurers, is to find as many dragon flags as possible. Each of you has been given a map with locations scattered across the city. There are seven hundred and forty-five dragon flags hidden out there, but beware—there is a catch! You must drink the potion that accompanies each flag.”

The crowd chuckled and murmured in anticipation.

“Only the boldest and most resilient among you shall prevail! For the team that collects the most flags and can stumble, crawl, or otherwise drag their sorry selves back to Hula Hans, shall claim the grand prize—a year’s worth of free drinks!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and laughter as the knight raised his sword high.

“Good luck, my fair folks,” he declared, his voice booming. “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

I couldn’t help but snort. “Did he just quote The Hunger Games?” I muttered under my breath.

The first stop on the map was Times Square, which, unsurprisingly, was already swarming with teams in various states of costume. Hannah was practically vibrating with excitement as we approached a small booth manned by a guy in a wizard hat and a robe that looked suspiciously like a bathrobe.

“Greetings, travelers!” he bellowed, waving a staff that had to be a repurposed broom handle. “To claim your flag, you must first drink the Potion of Courage!” He handed us two shot glasses filled with a neon green liquid that looked like it could double as antifreeze.

Hannah downed hers without hesitation, wings fluttering as she slammed the glass back onto the table. “Let’s go!” she cheered, grabbing the first flag of the night. I took a cautious sniff of mine and winced. It smelled like regret and bad decisions.

“Drink up, OP!” Hannah urged. “We’re on a time crunch!”

With a grimace, I tossed it back, the burn hitting my throat like a freight train. “Oh my god, what is that?” I coughed, blinking back tears. The wizard just grinned and waved us off.

Our next stop was an old bookstore tucked into a side street in Greenwich Village. Dusty shelves lined the walls, and the air smelled like aged paper and mystery. A woman dressed as a witch sat behind the counter, surrounded by potion bottles and a bubbling cauldron that I prayed was just for show.

“To claim your flag, you must drink the Potion of Wisdom,” she said, handing us small goblets filled with a cloudy purple liquid. “And answer this riddle: I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?”

“An echo,” Hannah answered instantly, her eyes gleaming with triumph. The witch cackled and handed over our second flag as we downed the potions. This one was surprisingly sweet, with just a hint of something herbal.

“Two down, ten to go,” I said, tucking the flag into my bag as we hurried out the door.

The third stop was a dive bar in the East Village, where the bartender—a burly man in a Viking helmet—handed us our next potion. “Drink up, shield maidens!” he roared, sliding two glasses of something golden and fizzy across the counter. “Your flag awaits!”

Hannah raised her glass in a toast. “To victory!” she declared, knocking it back in one go. I followed suit, wincing at the sharp kick of alcohol. The Viking handed us a flag with a grin and a hearty slap on the back that nearly sent me sprawling.

By the time we reached the sixth stop—a creepy old warehouse on the outskirts of town—I was starting to feel the effects of the potions. The world had taken on a slightly tilted quality, and I was pretty sure my cheeks were permanently flushed. The warehouse was dimly lit, with flickering candles lining the walls and eerie shadows dancing in the corners.

A man dressed as a dragon sat on a throne made of crates, his costume complete with glowing red eyes and a tail that dragged along the floor. “To claim your flag, you must drink the Dragon’s Breath,” he said, handing us two steaming mugs of something that smelled like cinnamon and fire.

“This feels like a bad idea,” I muttered, but Hannah was already halfway through hers. With a resigned sigh, I took a sip, the liquid burning its way down my throat. “Yep, definitely a bad idea,” I coughed, but the dragon handed us our flag, and we stumbled back out into the night.

The eleventh stop was an art gallery in SoHo, where the “potion” was a fancy cocktail served in a glass that looked like it belonged in a museum. By now, I was feeling a strange mix of exhaustion and exhilaration, the night blurring together in a haze of laughter and flashing lights.

“Almost there,” Hannah said, her wings drooping slightly but her determination unwavering. “One more stop.”

The final destination was marked on the map with a single word: Sanctuary. We followed the directions to an old Catholic church on the edge of the city, its stained glass windows glowing faintly in the moonlight.

We entered the church through a side door, the heavy wood creaking on its rusted hinges. The air inside was thick with the scent of dust and decay, and the faint glow from the stained glass windows cast fragmented hues of red, blue, and gold onto the cracked stone floor. I was expecting to see a character from the bar—a wizard, a sorceress, someone—but there was no one. Just silence. The kind that settles deep into your bones.

“Weird,” I muttered, scanning the empty pews. “Where’s the flag?”

Hannah and I split up to search. I found a yellow flag lying on the ground near the center aisle, the dragon emblem coiled around a sword in intricate detail. “Got it!” I called, holding it up triumphantly. But something was off. There wasn’t a drink anywhere. No potion, no bottle, nothing.

“Maybe we’re late, and everyone else already got their drinks,” I said, glancing around. The church felt too still, like it was holding its breath.

Hannah frowned, checking her map. “I don’t think so. This is supposed to run until 2:30 a.m., and it’s only 1:15.” She tapped the map with her finger for emphasis.

I made my way up to the front of the church, toward the altar—or what was left of it. The once-grand structure was crumbling, its marble surface cracked and covered in dust. Bingo. There it was: a small bottle with bright green liquid, sitting in the center like a prize waiting to be claimed. The liquid swirled inside the glass, almost alive, like it really was some kind of magical potion.

“Finally,” I muttered, grabbing the bottle. Without hesitation, I slammed it back, the hot liquid burning its way down my throat. This one was the strongest yet, and I had to clutch the edge of the altar to steady myself.

“Oh my God, OP,” Hannah said, her voice sharp with exasperation. “We’re at the wrong church.”

“What?” I froze, the empty bottle still in my hand. “What do you mean, wrong church?”

Hannah’s face was pale as she stared at her map, then back at me. “This isn’t our stop. This isn’t even on the map.”

I stared at the bottle in my hand, the little bit of green liquid left swirling ominously. My stomach churned, and the world tilted. “If this isn’t an alcoholic drink, then what did I just drink?” I managed to whisper, my voice shaky.

“OP? Are you okay?” Hannah’s voice was rising with panic, but I couldn’t answer. My throat felt tight, like the words were lodged somewhere I couldn’t reach. My head throbbed, ticking like an invisible clock, and my legs felt like they were made of spaghetti noodles. I tried to grab onto something—anything—but my arms wouldn’t cooperate.

“OP… Livy… Olivia!” Hannah’s voice was frantic now, but it sounded far away, like she was yelling from the end of a long tunnel. I could feel the ground shifting beneath me, and before I could process what was happening, it gave way entirely.

The last thing I heard was Hannah’s scream as I fell through the floor.

I don’t know how long I was falling. Seconds? Minutes? An eternity? My body hit the ground with a thud, the impact knocking the wind out of me. The air was cold and damp, and the surface beneath me was rough and uneven. I thought it was the basement at first, but as I lay there, gasping for breath, I realized it didn’t feel right. The floor wasn’t stone or concrete—it was dirt. Thick, packed dirt.

I tried to look up, to see where I’d fallen from, but the darkness was absolute. “Hannah!” I called, my voice echoing into the void. Nothing. “Hannah, can you hear me?” Still nothing. My heart pounded in my chest. How far had I fallen? Would she even be able to find me?

It was too dark to see anything, so I made my way to the nearest wall, feeling my way along the rough surface with trembling hands. I searched for a door handle, a light switch, something. The silence pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating.

Then, out of nowhere, a booming voice filled the air, shaking the very ground beneath me.

“Who are you?”