After a few days, Eli had sussed out a few things about criminal cabin life.

One—the flannel rule was real. Sherry had dug up a red flannel shirt for him to wear on the second day, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was, in a way, the most ruthless the team had acted towards him thus far.

Two—the coffee pot never saw a moment of rest. Beake was normally first to brew in the morning, then Sherry, then Grim. Banneker would slide in at midday, attempt to combine the caffeine with an energy drink, get discovered by Grim, then slink back into his room with straight coffee. Eli and Dawn would enjoy a cup on the porch in the afternoon, then Beake was back in front of it in the evening. Eli already knew the man didn’t eat well, but was starting to wonder if he slept, either.

Three—Friday nights were…still Friday nights.

“Bar time!” Grim’s voice boomed, easily reaching every floor. Dawn and Eli jumped from their cozy reading huddle on the couch. “You’ve got two minutes, then I’m hauling your asses to the car.”

Sherry was already jogging down the stairs. “Thank God. I’ll get the boy. Banneker, you heard the two minutes?”

“Gimme five.” Banneker waved her off, hunching further over his controller in the living room. “I’m trouncing my friend right now—no!”

A flash of video game gunfire, and Banneker’s avatar lay dead on-screen. As he tossed the controller onto the coffee table, Grim sidled up behind the couch. “He get you?”

Banneker sighed. “He got me.”

“Good.” With one arm, Grim hauled Banneker off the couch and threw him over their shoulder. Not losing a beat, Banneker whipped out his phone and began texting, elbows propped up against their back muscles.

“Who are you texting now?” Grim complained as they carried Banneker out to the car.

“Telling my friends I’ll be on later. Hey,” Banneker tapped Grim’s head, “can I grab an energy drink on the way there?”

“Absolutely not.”

Eli and Dawn looked at each other.

“Are we….going with them?” Eli murmured. Dawn shrugged.

“What, do you not want to go?”

“I don’t know! You think Grim’s gonna pick me up if I try to stay?”

Eli jumped again as Sherry laid a strong hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got no choice. If you don’t go, Ambrose will use that as an excuse not to go.”

“I’m not going.” Beake shuffled into the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee maker.

“Fine,” Sherry said airily. “If you don’t go, I’m not helping with tomorrow’s experiment.”

Beake’s hand paused halfway to the coffee pot. “No. You can’t, Sherry, it’s at minimum a two-person task—“

“I won’t do it.”

Beake dropped his hand. “Goddammit.” He trudged back out of the kitchen, the gave a sharp nod towards Dawn and Eli. “If I have to go, you have to go. Get in the car.”

#

A criminal mastermind, three henchmen, and two dead detectives walked into a bar.

To Eli’s relief, few others were there, and none of them bothered to look up when they walked in. Grim had picked a sufficiently early time and a sufficiently divey place. Though judging by how the bartender waved them in after only a glance, Grim chose this place often.

“How’s it going,” they rapped their knuckles on the bar and leaned against it. The bartender was already gathering glasses on the other side.

“Just fine.” He gave a shrug, a half-hearted smile on his face. It got a little brighter when his eyes landed on Ambrose. Eli glanced at Beake—there was no change in his composure. Of course there wouldn’t be.

They all clustered around the bartender like he was a watering pool, mumbling the usual pleasantries, noting how long it had been since they’d last visited. They kept comments about work vague, non-committal—not that the bartender cared.

“Hey,” Banneker leaned over the bar, “you got any energy drinks you can add—?”

“No.” The bartender passed him his beer. “I’m not in the business of killing you today.” He nodded to Dawn and Eli. “What do you want?”

Eli tried to take his cues from the others, but Sherry and Grim had already wandered off to the pool table, and Beake was holding a glass of…a glass of water?

Not helpful.

When Dawn gave her order, Eli waved. “Yeah, same.”

He slid onto the barstool next to Beake. Dawn sat next to him, and sipped on her beer as she evaluated the Sherry and Grim billiards duel through the lingering cigar smoke and vintage neon lights.

“Wanna make a bet?” she asked, then slapped Eli’s arm. “Grim or Sherry?”

“Sherry,” Eli said. “No question.”

Dawn huffed. “But I was gonna bet on Sherry.”

“Guess there’s no bet, then.”

“You’re no fun.” Dawn slid off and made her way over to Banneker, who was busy heckling both sides of the pool table over his beer. Eli made to follow, but something didn’t feel right in leaving the last man alone at the bar, so he stayed.

“So, uh,” he nodded to the bartender, who had wandered off after a wink in Beake’s direction, “that guy, huh?”

Ambrose sipped his water. “No.”

“Not guys?”

“Not that guy.”

“Mm. Not your type?” Eli evaluated Beake over his beer, wondering what type he would have. Not that it mattered, of course.

Beake shook his head. “He deserves better than a criminal, Elias.”

A part of Eli agreed. The other part of him winced. The second part must have shown through, for Beake shot him a look and turned away from him a little.

“I do nothing but disappoint you, don’t I?” he said, then gestured to the water. “Let me guess, you were expecting to see me flirting meaninglessly over a martini?”

“What, like James Bond?” Eli snorted. “Nice try, Bond isn’t a…” He paused. “Wait, no. He actually is a criminal. Yep, my comparison stands.”

Ambrose folded his arms. “No, it doesn’t, I’m nothing like—“

“Hey!” Dawn called from the other pool table. “Stop bickering and come play with me.”

Eli slid off the barstool, then tugged at Beake’s sleeve.

“Come on. You ordered me here, you’re not getting away with just sulking at the bar.”

#

Much to Dawn and Eli’s delight, billiards turned out to be a game Banneker was horrible at. Not that the hacker minded much—he was just as happy scratching as he was actually scoring points.

“How many points was that?” He grinned, pointing at the corner pocket. Eli stared at him, then rubbed his eyes.

“That was the eight-ball, my man. You lost.”

“Oh.” Banneker shrugged. “All right. I’m gonna go get another beer. Anyone want anything?”

They waved him off. As Eli re-racked, Dawn leaned against her pool stick next to him.

“Wish we could’ve hung out like this at the agency,” she murmured. Eli grinned at her.

“Dawn, you always worked too much.”

“You always worked too much.”

“Can confirm, you both worked too much.” Beake leaned against the far end of the pool table. “Banneker always commented on how you came home late.”

Eli held up a finger. “One, weird. Two, like you’re one to talk. Do you even sleep?”

“Of course I do,” Beake retorted. The light above the pool table sharpened the shadows under his eyes. “Last night, I got a solid four hours—“

“Oh my God.” Dawn rolled her eyes. “Just thinking about that makes me want to fall asleep. Here, flannel vampire.” She handed her pool stick to Beake. “Sub in for me while I get another beer.”

“But…”

Too late- she had already sauntered off to the bar, where Grim had posted up on a barstool, sulking over what Eli assumed was their loss to Sherry.

Beake sighed and grabbed the cue chalk. “Are you breaking?”

“Sure.” Eli picked up his pool stick at the opposite end of the table and fiddled with it. All his late nights—and Dawn’s—at work were because of Beake. First hunting him, then planning the gala mission, then unpacking the DuPont business…

Eli broke the triangle in the center of the table and watched the balls scatter. “I have a question.”

Beake shrugged. “All right.”

“DuPont. What did he want with the icefall?”

Beake took his turn, then straightened. “Not supposed to talk shop at the bar.”

“You didn’t even want to be at the bar,” Eli said, circling around him, “and you’ve probably been thinking about shop this whole time, James Bond.”

Beake sighed as Eli cued up. “DuPont was investing in anti-aging research. So was Rochere.”

Two balls in the corner pocket.

“Okay,” Eli said, waiting for Beake to continue. The man wandered around the table first, sifting through his possible angles.

“She thought she was securing a joint deal by delivering him the compound,” he finally said.

“That worked well for her.”

Beake took his shot—a near miss. Good. Eli had forgotten to keep track of points, anyway.

“So does it?” he asked. “Anti-age, I mean?”

“No,” Beake scoffed. “Not yet.”

Eli recoiled. “Is that what you’re working on?”

Beake glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. No, I’m,” he stepped aside to let Eli line up, “I’m continuing my medical research.”

Eli missed the cue ball entirely. Medical research?

He straightened, expecting Beake to move away. His best angle, after all, was opposite him. Instead, Beake remained in place for a moment.

“But I need the compound to do it,” he continued, his voice quieter. “People like DuPont buy it up. I let them waste their money, then I take the icefall from them. Ideally bloodlessly, but…things happen.”

“Things like Ms. Rochere?”

Beake nodded and moved away. As he lined up his shot, his hand shook. Another miss. As Eli frowned, he dug up a white vial from his pocket, glanced at Sherry to ensure she wasn’t looking, and downed it.

“It’s nothing. Ran some tests earlier,” he muttered when he caught Eli’s gaze. “Your move.”