Kota stood there in the quiet kitchen for another long moment, the empty glass still warm from his grip, the four cups of water sitting heavy and insistent low in his belly like a countdown he couldn't ignore.
His pulse hadn't slowed since Beckett's call; it thumped steady and loud in his ears, each beat reminding him that eight strangers were already waiting somewhere outside, expecting things he hadn't even wrapped his head around yet.
The headspace he'd been trying to find the calm, dominant focus that had carried him through Theo's office and the car and every other impossible twist felt slippery now, like trying to hold onto wet soap. Part of him wanted to text Beckett back and say forget it, tell the new guys the meeting was canceled, go hide in his room with the door locked until Khalil got home and the whole weird day evaporated.
But another part, the one that had started growing since the hallway pantsing incident, knew running wasn't an option anymore. He'd drunk the water like instructed. He'd agreed with that single "fine." Backing out now would just make everything messier, and Beckett didn't seem like the type to let loose ends dangle. Kota exhaled sharply, set the glass in the sink with a clink, and moved before he could overthink it any longer.
He didn't bother with the elevator. That thing took forever even on a good day, groaning and shuddering like it might quit halfway, and right now every second felt stretched thin. He lived on the third floor anyway nothing he couldn't handle. Kota yanked open the apartment door, pulled it shut behind him with a soft click, and took off down the hallway at a jog. His sneakers slapped against the worn carpet, the sound echoing off the cinderblock walls. By the time he hit the stairwell he was moving faster, heart already climbing from more than just the run. The water sloshed uncomfortably with each step, a full, pressing reminder that made his face heat all over again. He grabbed the railing and slid down the first flight in one smooth motion, the metal cool under his palm, picking up speed so quick his stomach flipped.
Second flight, same thing, slide, feet hitting the landing with a thud that jarred his knees. He took the last set two steps at a time, breath coming quicker now, the back door at the bottom glowing with the faint red exit sign above it. He shoved through it hard, the heavy metal swinging open into the cool evening air of the parking lot, and stepped out into the shadows behind the building.
The lot was mostly empty this time of night, just the usual scattered cars and pickup trucks under the humming sodium lights. But over in the emptier far corner, tucked away near the chain-link fence where the overflow spots were, sat a black van. It stood out immediately matte black, windows tinted so dark they looked like voids, the kind of vehicle that screamed "not from around here." Rock music blasted from inside, loud enough that Kota could feel the bass vibrating through the asphalt even from thirty feet away. He didn't recognize the song something raw and fast with screaming guitars and a pounding drum line that made his teeth buzz. Definitely not the old R&B Khalil kept on in the truck.
Kota hesitated for half a second, scanning the lot to make sure no one else was watching, then started walking toward it. His sneakers crunched on loose gravel, the water in his stomach shifting with every stride and adding a new layer of urgency he tried to ignore. He reached the driver's side first, raised his fist, and knocked on the window, three solid taps that should have been loud enough to cut through the music. Nothing. No movement, no shadow shifting behind the tint, no music lowering. Just the relentless riff screaming on.
Kota frowned, confusion mixing with the caution already prickling at the back of his neck. He knocked again, harder this time, knuckles stinging against the glass. Still nothing. Then, faintly over the roar of the guitars, he caught a voice drifting from the rear of the van enthusiastic, thick with that unmistakable Aussie drawl that turned every word into something bouncy and loud.
"Over here, jackass!"
It carried clear even through the closed doors, full of energy like the guy was yelling at a mate across a crowded bar. Kota blinked, thrown off. The voice didn't match the front of the van at all. He stood there for a beat, weighing it, then moved cautiously around the side, keeping one hand lightly on the warm metal panel as he went. The music thumped louder near the back, the van rocking just slightly on its suspension from whatever was happening inside. He reached the rear doors, took a steadying breath that did nothing to calm the flutter in his chest, and stepped around the corner.
Right as he turned, a face popped out from between the doors wide grin, eyes bright with mischief and yelled "BO!" at the top of its lungs. Kota startled so hard his feet tangled; he stumbled backward, arms windmilling, and landed flat on his ass on the gritty asphalt with a grunt that knocked the wind out of him.
Pain flared up his tailbone, but before he could even process it the guy who'd scared him doubled over in the open rear doors, cackling so hard his whole body shook. The laughter was loud and infectious, rolling out in waves that cut through the rock music still blasting from the van's speakers. Kota sat there for a second, heart hammering against his ribs, face burning with a mix of embarrassment and leftover adrenaline, then pushed himself up, brushing dirt and gravel off his jeans. He stepped closer to the back of the van, trying to regain some dignity, and asked, voice still a little breathless, "Who the hell are you guys?"
The boy kept laughing, bent over with hands on his knees, tears actually starting to form at the corners of his eyes from how hard he was going at it. He didn't answer, just wheezed through another round of cackles that made his shoulders shake.
Kota waited, irritation building on top of everything else, until the person standing right beside the laughing guy swung an arm out and punched him solidly in the shoulder. "Shut up, Corey," the voice said, flat and exasperated, directed less at Corey and more at the universe in general like this was a daily occurrence. The punch wasn't hard enough to really hurt, but it cut the laughter off mid-burst. Corey straightened up, still grinning like an idiot, rubbing his shoulder but not looking sorry at all.
Kota took one long look at the four of them crowded in the open rear of the van Corey still snickering, the other three watching with varying degrees of amusement and felt the realization settle in his gut like the water he'd chugged earlier.
Yep…
these are exactly the type of people Beckett would like. Oh god. The thought hit hard and fast, bringing a fresh wave of dread mixed with that weird resigned acceptance he was starting to get used to. Beckett's whole vibe gothic robes, crystals, clinical cult talk fit these four like they'd been custom-ordered. Kota cleared his throat, trying to sound more in control than he felt, the full pressure in his bladder making everything feel a little more urgent. "You guys with Beckett?"
Corey didn't even hesitate. He threw his head back and yelled at the top of his lungs, still grinning like a maniac, "Does a bear shit in the woods?!?!"