“Niko, everything I’m about to say to this guy is a complete and total lie, and I love you and will marry you and adopt a hundred three-eyed ravens or whatever it is your weird ass wants instead of kids,” she mutters.

“I know,” Niko says back. “Did you just propose to me?”

“Oh shit, I guess I did?” Myla opens the door and shoves Gabe through it.

“I’m so mad at you,” Niko says. “I already have a ring at home.”

“Oh my God, seriously?” says Jane.

“Mazel,” Wes chimes in.

“Y’all,” August says.

“Right,” Myla says. “Here I go. Muting you guys now.”

August sees her slide a hand under her shirt to turn the volume on her phone down, but she leaves the mic on. “Hey, Gabe. Sorry to bug you. But I … I just really wanted to thank you for helping us.”

August can practically hear him blushing. “Oh, it’s no big deal. Anything for you, Myles.”

“Myles?” Wes and August mutter in disgusted unison.

“I wanted to let you know … I’m so sorry about what happened between us. I was a dick. I don’t know what I was thinking. You deserved better.”

“I appreciate you saying that.”

“And, I … I know you have every right to hate me. But fuck if I don’t still think about you all the time.”

“You do?”

“Yeah … when Niko’s asleep, sometimes, I think about you. That one time, in the elevator of my dorm, you remember? I couldn’t walk straight for two days.”

“Yikes,” Wes says.

“Amateur,” Niko notes.

“And especially when I hear that song you used to like—you remember? Sometimes it comes on, and I’ll think, wow, I wonder what Gabe’s doing. I really let a good one get away.” She sighs for dramatic effect. “I missed you. I didn’t even know what you’d been doing for the past two years. You’ve been keeping yourself from me, huh?”

“I mean, honestly, it’s mostly this job. Um, yeah, and I got really into intermittent fasting. And vaping. Those are, like, my two main hobbies.”

“Those are hobbies?” Wes deadpans.

“Do I even want to know what that means?” Jane asks.

“Shh,” Niko hisses, “it’s getting good.”

“Wow,” Myla continues. “I’d love to hear all about that sometime—”

“It’s actually really interesting. I read about how Silicon Valley programmers can go for twenty, twenty-two hours straight without eating or only supplementing with a meal replacement shake. Apparently skipping meals and restricting nutrients makes time go by more slowly, so you can get more done in your day. That’s how I have time to do this job and start making a business plan for my line of JUULpods.”

“Oh my God,” August says.

“Yeah, um,” Myla stammers. “Wow. You always were so … creative. I—”

“Yeah!” Gabe says, suddenly excited. This was not the plan. “I’m close to having my first product line developed, then I’ll go into market testing. My concept is, like, savory pods. You know how you only ever see sweet ones? But what about, like, a buffalo chicken vape? Or—”

“This is transcendent,” Niko says. It sounds like he’s got a mouthful of pancake.

“She has to kill him,” Wes says. “It’s the only way.”

“—pepperoni pizza vape, bacon cheeseburger vape, you know? And for the vegetarians, there’s a whole line with bean burrito and nacho cheese and paneer tikka masala flavors—”

“I’m gonna barf,” August says.

“Anyway, I’m still looking for investors. I’m so glad you’re into the idea. It’s been hard to pitch.”

“Yeah, I guess some people have preconceived notions about, uh, what vapes should taste like? But anyway—”

“You know what? I have some samples in my car—did I tell you I got a Tesla last year? I mean technically, my dad got it, but anyway, let me go grab some and you can taste for yourself.”

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that—”

“No problem at all, Myles.”

“No, Gabe—fuck.” There’s a rustling over the line as Myla pulls her phone out and unmutes the group call. “I didn’t get the badge.”

August spins on the spot. On the other side of the crowd is Gabe, headed for the door.

“Fuck it, I’ll get it,” August says into her phone, and she snatches up the nearest bowl of batter and plows straight toward him.

In the crush of bodies, it’s easy to play the last few steps into a stumble—right into Gabe’s chest, pancake batter splattering everywhere, up his neck and into his hair, soaking his Members Only jacket.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry!” August shouts over the crowd. Gabe holds his hands out in shock, and she pulls a towel from her apron and start sopping up the batter. “I’m a disaster, oh my God.”

“This jacket is vintage,” he hisses.

And that’s all it takes—concern over his stupid jacket—for him not to notice when she slides her hand under the towel and unclips the badge from his lanyard.

“I’m so sorry,” August repeats. She slides the card into her back pocket. “I—I can give you my Venmo and you can charge me for the dry cleaning.”

He sighs heavily. “Don’t worry about it.”

He storms away and August waves apologetically after him, then leans back into the phone in her front pocket. “Got it.”

“That’s my girl,” Jane replies.

“Oh, thank God,” comes Myla’s voice. “I thought I was gonna have to vape some lamb vindaloo.”

“No crimes against nature tonight,” August says. “Except for the big one, I guess. Meet me in the bathroom, Niko?”

“Be there with bells on.”

“Okay, Jane,” August says. “I’m gonna end the call, but I should be there in ten. Just—just stay where you are.”

“I think I can manage,” Jane says, and August disconnects.

She passes the ID to Niko, and he gives her a vague salute and heads off. He’ll meet Myla near the control room once everyone is in place. Just one more step—setting up the diversion.

“You ready?” August asks Wes, sidling up beside him at the trash can.

He smirks and raises an eyebrow. “Ready to commit arson at a loud party? This is what I was born to do.”

“Okay,” August says, untying her apron. “I’ll give you the signal when we get over the bridge. I’m gonna—”

“Where have you been?” says Lucie’s voice from behind her. Fuck. She sounds like she’s about to start spitting curses in Czech. August spins around to find her glaring, a bottle of maple syrup clutched in her hand like a grenade. “These people. Nightmare. I need help.”

“I—” How the fuck is she going to get out of this? “I’m sorry, I—”

“She had the most genius idea,” says another familiar voice, and there’s Annie Depressant herself, bewigged and costumed, a stack of stuffed pancakes balanced atop her head. “I’m gonna take over for her.” She points to the tip jar. “I can double that in fifteen minutes.”