The afternoon had finally become something worth enjoying.
On the terrace, the noise had returned to that of a casual outing rather than an emergency. Someone ordered more ice. Chloe told a story even worse than the previous one, and this time she actually got some genuine laughs. Madison negotiated a shared bill with the waitress as if she were running a small business meeting. Ana laughed without first looking at Madeleine for permission. Madeleine, more relaxed now, let the sunlight fall across her face and didn't seem bothered by it.
Sara improvised an absurd list of "rules for not ruining the day." Susan corrected them one by one in her dry voice, achieving exactly the opposite of what she intended: even more laughter.
"No talking about rehearsals," Sara said.
"No talking about failed rehearsals," Susan corrected.
"No correcting me."
"That's not a rule. That's a wish."
Brittany clinked her glass against Vivian's.
"Here's to an afternoon that doesn't turn into an emergency meeting."
Vivian smiled.
"Yet."
"Let's not tempt fate," Brittany murmured, though she was smiling too.
They devoted themselves seriously to talking about nonsense.
A movie nobody had finished watching. A teacher who used his dog in his examples. Whether the ice cream shop on the corner was worth standing in line for again. Madison admitted that she hated being late simply because the clock at her house seemed to have moral authority. Chloe said that at her house, the clock didn't give orders. The volume of the television did.
Ana listened more than she spoke, but every now and then she would offer a precise remark that made half the group nod. Madeleine admitted that she liked this kind of noise: the sound of familiar people, not engines.
None of them mentioned Jessica. Or Tiffany. Or Ashley. Or Dereck.
Not because they had completely forgotten about them.
But because, for once, they had decided not to let it ruin their afternoon.
A boy approached to ask for a phone number. Brittany gave him a sweet smile and a "not today" that sounded like a door being firmly shut with a ribbon on it. Another tried the long-compliment trick with Madison; she thanked him like someone elegantly signing off on a rejection. Sara raised an eyebrow at a third before he could even finish his sentence. Susan didn't even look up.
"We're getting better at this," Chloe said.
"We're practicing," Madison replied.
The plaza remained crowded. Children, shopping bags, the constant scraping of chairs. From the table, the day seemed to have put itself back together.
From a distance, Ryan wasn't watching the table.
He was watching something else.
The balloon's connection sent him clear fragments of the plaza: the edge of the parking lot, the gleam of the motorcycles, the semicircle of leather jackets. The three cheerleaders were laughing near them, still buying into the friendly version of the story. Jessica with her hair loose. Tiffany gesturing as she spoke. Ashley standing a little farther apart, but still part of the group.
Ryan wasn't surprised when the exchange took place.
It wasn't clumsy. It wasn't cinematic. It was practical.
A handshake that lasted a little too long. A small package changing hands inside an open backpack, visible for only a second. Money being counted without any display, with the calm of people who had done it many times in worse places. One of the bikers glanced around out of habit, not fear. Another laughed and offered a beer, as if the gesture settled the transaction.
Drugs.
A simple deal, hidden in plain sight beneath casual conversation and the noise of the plaza.
The girls accompanying them didn't see it. Or perhaps they didn't want to. Someone said something, and they all laughed again, oblivious to the exchange of hands that had just completed the deal.
Ryan watched without tensing.
"Of course…"
There was no drama in his voice. Just confirmation.
From the beginning, he had been told what he was in this world for: not just Entities. Assassins. Traffickers. Human traffickers. Cannibals. Cults. Everything that deserved to disappear. The list wasn't poetry. It was work.
This gang didn't need fangs or purple marks to deserve their end. What they were was enough.
Dereck was among them, relaxed, smiling as if the afternoon owed him something. Ryan memorized his face without rushing. Name. Posture. Position within the group. He wasn't the leader, or at least he didn't seem to be. He was a piece on the board. Enough.
He considered how to eliminate them.
Not that night. Not in front of eight students and a crowded plaza.
A roadside accident would be noisy. A shootout, even worse. Appearing as the Clown in broad daylight would be pointless. Better to map things out first: who sold, who stored the drugs, where they kept them, who was really in charge. Separate the cheerleaders from the group before closing in. Then, a place without witnesses. Fast. Clean. With a mark, if necessary. Without one, if silence proved more useful.
He could do it in one night. Or three. Or let the gang move on its own to a warehouse and turn that warehouse into their final destination.
He smiled slightly, without humor.
"Either way… they have to be erased."
Not because of Vivian. Not because of Dereck's cheap flirting. Because of what they were.
Down on the terrace, Brittany passed Vivian a napkin with a little face drawn on it in pen.
"In case you forget we came here to have a good time."
Vivian looked at the drawing, then at Brittany, and gave her a genuine nod.
"I won't forget."
Sara suggested taking a group photo "to prove we exist outside of rehearsals." Susan said she looked terrible in every picture. She stood up anyway. Madison arranged everyone with absurd efficiency. Chloe shouted "one, two, three" far too loudly. Ana laughed in the picture. Madeleine did too.
For a moment, seen from anywhere, they were just eight girls enjoying a day out.
Ryan withdrew some of his attention from the balloon.
Not all of it.
The deal was over. The money had been put away. The cheerleaders were still laughing, believing an incomplete version of who those men were. The gang wasn't going to become a group of saints just because the sunset looked beautiful.
"Now, just watch," he murmured.
Take notes. Keep following them. Choose the right moment.
In the plaza, the afternoon continued. On the terrace, someone was asking for the bill. In the parking lot, a motorcycle roared without leaving just yet.
Ryan wasn't surprised by any of it.
The world was full of things that smiled to your face while selling things behind your back.
And he hadn't been sent here to look the other way.