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"Alright, this is it. The last leg. We're storming the Lees' base tomorrow, and we're going all out, so if there's any last words anyone wants to say, say them now."
Vernon was standing over the table, knuckles resting against the top, looking around with an ashen face as if daring someone to say something. Scar tissue peeked from the askew neckline of his t-shirt, so white that I could see the skin inside—mottled, bronze and tan, the color of new honey and white gold.
Jinyoung looked up at him over the cracked glass filled to the brim with beer, a smile curling the corner of his lips. "Good pep talk," he said. "Nice touch, the whole last words thing. Implying that we're going to die but not saying it outright."
Vernon gave him a tired glance, looking like a babysitter after being challenged to another game of Uno. There were rings under his eyes, but when he straightened, he still held himself stoic—nothing like the smiling boy I'd met in Seoul three years ago, but a grown man, with growing loads and responsibilities that hung over him like a cloud—and yet, his shoulders remained pulled back with a quiet certainty that made me feel hollow and full at the same time.
The rest of the racers—and the other newbies—were scattered around in the storage room like an assortment of puzzle pieces. The faces they wore showed challenge, a sort of boredom, even, but it didn't take a long glance to see the set fear in their hollow eyes. Junhee was the only one with his head down, sorrow turning the corners of his mouth downwards, looking the hollowest out of all of them.
"Actually, I do have something to say," Taeyong said, raising a hand. "Someone scratched the driver's seat of my car, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't her—" he gestured to me— "since the proof of all the scratching she did is bodily—"
"Damn, what has gotten into you?" Ten asked, turning in his chair to regard him with a delighted yet amazed smile. "I've only heard stories about you, but I'm pretty sure none of them involved whatever this is."
Taeyong opened his mouth to speak, but Yeeun beat him to it. "He's happy," she said, in a tone that betrayed no opinion. She didn't even look up from drink, swishing it around in a coffee mug, boots kicked up to rest on the tires that had been piled to make a table. "Don't you see?"
"We're going to hell, literally, in a few hours, and he's happy," Jaebum muttered, his eyes slitted. He was the only one without a drink.
"Go figure," Lucas said cheerfully.
I hid my smile, looking away. Taeyong caught me eye, and winked. Although it was nice to see him in such high spirits, one word came to my mind whenever I tried to relax: denial. Despite Jaebum's unsurprising pessimistic philosophy, he was right. We were going to die in a few hours. Either that, or come out relatively unharmed and victorious, but the odds didn't seem trustworthy.
