THIS IS NOT what Hadley is used to.
He's used to the presence of teenage destitution—pizza boxes, papers scattered all around, empty take-out containers no one's bothered to clean up. All of that is gone, replaced by polished floorboards, oak-paneled walls, and the smell of beeswax. The lamps on the walls cast their dim light onto the floor, in patches of murky yellow. This doesn't feel like Molly.
For a moment, Hadley thinks that he's opened the wrong door, maybe turned into the wrong alleyway, into some eccentric private country club on the outskirts of Chinatown, but before he even considers leaving, Hassan calls out his name.
"Bishop!" Hassan exclaims, sitting in an armchair at the far end of the room. His eyes are half-lidded, almost arrogant. "You showed up."
Molly greets him too, in the strange and eerie language of wall and wood. It is a little disconcerting to think that he's used to this.
Opposite Hassan sits Benji, who is idly scrolling through his phone. Once he's aware of Hadley's presence, however, he looks away and at him.
"Did you walk here?" Benji asks, putting his phone away. "Or are you suffering from some severe dandruff problem?"
"I walked," Hadley says, smiling. "Just two blocks though." He looks around the room again, and the sheer style of it wipes the smile off his face. "What happened here?"
"We have important guests," Hassan says, like that's a perfectly serviceable answer. "Take a seat. There's a chair right by me. There we go. Attaboy."
Upon closer examination, Hadley realizes that Hassan is tired. What Hadley mistook for a lazy, arrogant gaze is just Hassan struggling to keep his eyes open.
"Why's he here?" Benji asks.
"Character witness," Hassan says, with a yawn.
Something is wrong with Benji's hair.
"My eyes are down here," he says, faintly amused.
"Your hair," Hadley says, not trusting himself to finish the rest of his sentence.
Benji touches his hair, playing with a strand near his temple. "What about my hair?"
"It's not shining. It's—" Hadley's suddenly aware of how silly this conversation is. "Never mind."
"You don't have any gel in your hair," Hassan says, his eyes closed. "That's what he's trying to say."
Benji puts his foot on Hassan's knee, and the casualness of the gesture startles Hadley. Benji doesn't look like the sort of person who would deign to put his foot on someone else. Hassan doesn't look like the sort of person who would accept being a footstool for someone else. But there they are, anyway. Benji with his foot on Hassan's knee, Hassan barely holding onto the waking world.
"Didn't have time," Benji says.
Hassan grumbles out some words and before either Benji or Hadley can decipher what he's trying to say, Hassan dozes off. A look of mild exasperation crosses Benji's face and he takes his foot off of Hassan's knee.
"Where are the rest?" Hadley asks.
"Shani and Vic are talking with Sophia," says Benji, and upon Hadley's confused frown, he adds, "Some Coterie lady. Francis is getting doughnuts. Jeanne is talking with Duchess."
