It took Eli another day simply to shed the exhaustion the meeting at the lake had brought him—and unlike the past three days, he found the team’s distance to be helpful. After all, he didn’t need any more pitying looks from Sherry, or quiet distance from Ambrose.

In the end, it was Banneker who closed the silent gap between them all. He was puttering around the kitchen after dinnertime, just when Eli was mentally sorting out how to disappear for the evening.

“Where’s the…” He started tossing bags out of cabinets and onto the island. Marshmallows, then graham crackers, then chocolate bars. “What else goes on…”

A bottle of hot sauce toppled onto the counter. Grim swiftly took it and put it back. “You want to make s’mores?” They leaned against the fridge. Banneker nodded and pointed at Eli.

“He wants to make them, too.”

Eli pointed at himself. “Me? No, I didn’t—“

Banneker put a finger to his own lips and shushed. “You said it with your soul. These things,” he waved a hand over the marshmallows, “are cleansing.”

A few minutes later, the team was shuffling out to the fire pit in the back, arms loaded with sticks, matches, and three different forms of sugar.

“How did it go today?” Ambrose asked. He was passing out sticks as Grim knelt to start the fire. They grunted and rubbed their hands on their knees.

“Good,” they said vaguely. Eli perked up. Grim and Banneker had disappeared for most of the day, leaving before anyone else was awake—but they had remained unusually quiet upon their return. Not even Banneker would give a hint as to what they were doing.

Grim glanced at Eli, and lowered their voice. “I’ll brief you later.”

Eli gave a small huff, but Sherry’s grumbling off to the right quickly distracted him.

“Look at these things.” She held up a jumbo marshmallow and squished it between two fingers. “What do they even put in it?”

Banneker took it from her and popped it into his mouth. “Stardust and love, Sherry. Hand me the graham crackers?”

A fire soon crackled in the pit, and they all settled back in their lawn chairs with sticks and mallows. In a way, Banneker was right. The popping heat of the flames was soothing against the cool midnight sky above them, and the idle concentration of roasting marshmallows superseded the need for much conversation. Eli relaxed into the chair and closed his eyes, his breathing slow and even for the first time in days.

He just wished Dawn was here, too.

“Grim,” Banneker’s voice cut through the peace. “Are you really just eating the graham crackers?”

Eli thought he heard methodical crunching from across the fire pit.

“Maybe.”

“You’re not even gonna add any chocolate?”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Ambrose said. Eli jumped—the man had been so quiet, he had forgotten that he was sitting next to him. “You’re burning the marshmallow.”

Banneker lifted his stick from the fire to reveal a torched mallow. He grinned and blew it out.

“Ames,” he held up his fingers like a chef, “it’s about the delicate balance of crunchy and gooey. Of the past and the present. Of the infinite and the—“

“Tastes better.” Sherry said. She lifted her burning stick out of the fire, blew on it, then slathered the charcoal goop on a graham cracker.

“Heathens,” Ambrose muttered. He was hunched forward, carefully spinning his marshmallow several inches over the flames to achieve a golden roast. “Absolutely no taste…”

He was about to lift his stick when the marshmallow stretched and dropped into the flame. Ambrose gave a small noise of defeat. Eli snorted.

“Here, you want another one?” He reached for the bag at his foot.

“No.” Ambrose groaned and leaned back into his chair. “I don’t have the will to carry on.”

As Ambrose closed his eyes, Eli grabbed two marshmallows, roasted them over the low flames closest to him, and smashed them into two perfect s’mores.

“There we go.” He took Ambrose’s hand, flipped it, and placed one of the treats in his palm. “Wasn’t that hard.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Ambrose sat up, inspected it, and bit in. Gooey chocolate and marshmallow oozed over his fingers. He crunched happily for a moment, then frowned at himself. “God, I’m a mess.”

“That’s part of the fun.” Eli was already popping the last corner of his s’more into his mouth. “Gotta eat ‘em fast before half of it ends up all over you.”

Ambrose mumbled something indistinct, his mouth glued shut with marshmallow. Eli smiled. There was something…freeing about seeing him look like a mess. Crumbs sticking to his fingertips, chocolate smeared across his cheek like he was ten.

Eli dug up another marshmallow. “Ames, you want…” He paused for dramatic effect and looked at him. Ambrose glared at him as he licked his splattered fingers.

“Don’t you say it.”

“You want—“

“Don’t say it, Eli.”

“You want s’more?”

“That’s it.” Ambrose grabbed the goopy end of his abandoned stick, then reached out towards Eli with gummy fingers. “You want to be a mess?”

“No, no!” Eli twisted away, but it was too late—Ambrose had smeared warm marshmallow across his cheek. With a half-genuine gasp, Eli reached out with his own chocolate-stained hand and got the man on the ear. Ambrose reeled back and laughed in surprise, wiping his ear with his sleeve.

“Terribly rude—“

“Boys!” Sherry called. Eli pointed at Ambrose.

“He started it!”

“Oh my God.”

Banneker laid a patient hand on Sherry’s arm. “Sherry, they’re embracing a core aspect of s’mores.”

“Which is?”

“That no one remembers to bring paper towels to the fire pit.”

“That’s my cue,” Grim said, and got up to retreat back into the house. Ambrose straightened his sleeve and settled back into the chair.

“As punishment, Eli, I’m going to ask a question.”

Eli settled back as well. “What, and I have to answer? Like truth or dare?”

“Only truth.”

“Interesting game for a criminal mastermind.”

Ambrose shot him a look. “Now you’re just deflecting.”

Eli waved. “Gimme the question, then.”

“What did you study in school?”

Eli paused, then lifted his head. “Why do you ask that?”

Ambrose gave a small shrug. “You don’t seem to quite have a direction yet. Whatever you studied in school didn’t seem to hold your interest.”

Eli drummed his fingers on the wooden chair, his eyes focused on the blanket of stars above. Every now and then, a spark from the fire would wiggle up to join the twinkling lights, then disappear.

“It wasn’t that, it was just…the agency paid so much that…” He sighed. “It’s embarrassing.”

Sherry snorted off to his right. “What was it? Musical theater?”

“Musical theater is valid, Sherry,” Banneker chided.

Ambrose smiled. “If it’s musical theater, I’ll unfortunately be demanding follow-up proof via performance.”

“It’s not…” Eli passed a hand over his face. “It was science education. I wanted to be a science teacher.”

Ambrose shot up straight and looked at him. “Really?”

Eli groaned, keeping his gaze on the stars. “Yes—“

“I don’t understand, how is that embarrassing?”

“Because,” Eli gestured to the group at large, “because you’re scientists!”

“What, and you don’t think I value people who want to teach science?”

Ambrose’s tone was so sincere that Eli had to meet his gaze. He turned his head to find Ambrose’s eyes sparkling with a mix of delight and surprise.

“Hallelujah,” Sherry said through a mouthful of s’more. “Now maybe I’ll give you the phone when my nephew asks for help with his homework. Keeps asking me questions about space. I’m a doctor, not an astronaut. Like I know anything about Mars…”

“Science education sounds wonderful,” Ambrose said more softly. He seemed to have realized how strongly he had reacted, and turned a little inward, picking at a splinter on the chair.

Eli didn’t know which one made him more self-conscious—earnest or soft Ambrose.

“You ever think about something like that?” he asked. “If you ever stop fighting?”

“When,” Banneker said. “When we stop fighting.”

Eli tilted his head—but Ambrose didn’t contradict it.

“I’ll have to think about something like it,” he said quietly. “One day. Soon.”