The yellow sign of the chicken shop buzzed cheerfully as Kant pushed the door open. The warm, greasy aroma of fried chicken wrapped around him as he stepped in.
It was lunchti but the place wasn’t too busy.
Seated at a booth near the window, Jones leaned back casually, his blond hair catching the light. A small smirk played on his lips as he gave Kant a relaxed wave.
"Look who’s back. I was beginning to think all I would get was the text that dinner was ready."
Kant shrugged as he slid into the booth opposite him. "Had a free mont, so here I am."
He couldn’t tell how much Hunter had told Jones about the cult troubles. Judging by the lack of suspicious glances, it seed Jones wasn’t aware of the... complications Kant had caused.
Mrs. Shin rang the little bell on the counter, signaling for Jones to serve the prepared plates with fried chicken steaming on them.
"Be right back," Jones said, hopping to his feet. He moved with the lightness of a fox, effortlessly balancing the plates as he carried them to the tables.
He returned to the booth with a friendly grin. "I put in sweet chili tenders for you. You got a large batch last ti. Finally developed an appetite for life, huh?"
Kant scoffed. More like was haunted by a ghost with an insatiable appetite.
The bell above the door jingled. In strolled Hunter, his favored green bomber jacket on his shoulders. He muttered sothing about disgustingly sunny weather, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
Jones’s attention was snagged by a custor waving from a nearby table, calling him over with an order.
Hunter took the opportunity to slide into the booth beside Kant without a greeting, plopping down with a heavy sigh. He looked as if he had just wrestled with his own thoughts, not that it was unusual for him.
Kant leaned closer while Jones was busy, keeping his voice low. "Do you want sothing from ?"
Hunter frowned, scratching his head. "The hell are you on about?"
Kant glanced at Jones, who was still occupied. "You didn’t tell Jones about what I did."
Hunter shrugged, his expression switching between irritation and indifference. "Hale’s gone, so I don’t care. But if he pops up out of the blue, I’m not covering for your ass."
Now it was Kant’s turn to scratch his head. Why was Hunter letting it go? Surely, not because he felt a rekindled sense of camaraderie towards Kant?
Nonetheless, Kant didn’t have much ti to think about it. From cleaning up the aftermath of Hale’s death, hiding the body, and moving out of his apartnt, his hands were full.
He had moved all his stuff to a storage unit, but hadn’t found a suitable place to rent. The rental market was slow during winter. Or perhaps it was just Kant’s luck.
Hunter’s focus shifted to the fried chicken from the platter Jones set down in front of them. "Is this spicy?"
"Very. Will fla your guts," Jones teased. "I’ll get you drumsticks."
Hunter gave a nod, retreating from the sweet chili tenders.
Once their table was set and they began eating, the sound of exclaims drifted from a nearby table. A group of girls were staring at the small TV mounted on the wall.
"Woah, he’s alive?"
Kant furrowed a brow and turned his head to glance at the screen. As he saw the image on the screen, his appetite flew out the window.
One of the girls fetched the remote from the counter and turned up the volu.
"...miraculous survival of Gabriel Everett, who was believed to have been dead for two weeks. Sources reveal Everett was not dead, but kidnapped and held hostage."
Hunter paused mid-bite, narrowing his eyes at the screen. Jones’s hand tightened around his glass of water, his smirk hanging by a thread.
The news anchor continued, her voice carrying through the entire shop, "After dical checkups, doctors made a shocking discovery—a bullet lodged between two halves of his brain, miraculously not causing any permanent damage. Experts are calling it a one-in-a-million survival."
"You’ve gotta be kidding ," Hunter muttered.
Jones looked at Kant, struggling to process the bombshell news. "Kant?" he started, a warning in his voice.
Kant didn’t respond, preparing himself for whatever consequences would follow. His heartbeat thumped anxiously in his chest, but he kept a straight face.
Hunter leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms with a scoff. "Not only did you kidnap Hale, but you kept Everett alive all this ti, too?"
Jones’s eyes drilled into Hunter, his brows raising in a "care to explain?" gesture. He rose from his seat, all pretense of casualness gone. "Storage room. Now."
Kant exhaled, following obediently. Hunter ca to watch too, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
The tension in the storage room was as thick and sticky as the snow outside—enough to ball up and lob at soone. Not to ntion the small throwing knife Jones toyed with.
Frankly, there weren’t that many things that scared Kant. But furious Jones shivered his timbers. He rembered the last guy who crossed Jones—still couldn’t look at a pair of pliers without wincing.
No one said a single word while Jones was thinking. Even the lightbulb above buzzed intermittently, stuttering under the pressure.
Finally, Jones stabbed the knife into the table, cutting the silence. "Just what exactly have you been doing?"
Kant’s mouth felt dry, his hands cold. Any explanation he could give sounded like a lie. The truth sounded even worse. He was trapped in a complete lose-lose situation.
"Hale is dead. There are no loose ends with him," Kant said, his voice low but steady. "As for Everett... I shot him in the head. He was dead when I left him. I don’t know anything about the kidnapping."
Jones’s fingers drumd on the table, his gaze narrowing to a cold, calculating stare.
Hunter scoffed from his corner. "First, it was all that sneaking around Everett’s territory, and now he’s taking anyone related to that damn company like a serial killer. Actually no—a serial killer would kill, but Kant lets them walk."
Jones fixed Hunter with a challenging smirk. "Hey, faulty report, doesn’t hiding shit make you an accomplice? What’s that about kidnapping Hale?"
Hunter cleared his throat and crossed his arms, looking away avoidantly. Kant almost wanted to laugh at the sight of Hunter losing his bravado, but he was in too deep in his own shit to dare.
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