"You were enjoying it."
"I was hydrating."
Ruby's eyes slide to Nash. "You. You were too calm about this."
"I'm always calm."
"You're calm because you did it." She steps closer. "I can feel it."
Nash doesn't blink. "Feelings aren't evidence."
Darla clears her throat. "I'd like to discuss the shrine."
East grins. "I don't know what you mean."
"You wrapped my car in your face."
"That doesn't sound like me."
"Three people honked on the way here. An old woman gave me a thumbs up. A teenager took a photo."
East just grins. Darla stares at him until Kyle shifts his weight.
"I'm going to kill you."
"But you drove it here."
Darla pauses. "The bobblehead stays."
East pumps his fist. "Knew it."
"The rest comes off tomorrow."
"Fair."
Candace has been silent through all of this. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a rubber duck. Sets it on the bar. Another from her jacket pocket. A third from her water bottle. Three ducks in a row, staring at the room.
"There were six in my car," she says. "Four in my locker. One in my gym bag. One somehow inside my sealed water bottle." Her voice is calm in a way that suggests significant internal violence. "Would anyone care to explain?"
East examines his nails. "Ducks migrate. It's natural."
"Natural."
"It's a well-documented phenomenon."
Kyle, from somewhere near the food. "I can confirm. Ducks are migratory."
Candace turns to him. "Kyle." He goes pale. His hand drifts to the lanyard around his neck and tucks it inside his shirt. "You're wearing a lanyard that says Prank War Compliance Officer."
"I was holding it for someone."
Malachi, beside Candace, rubs his jaw. His mouth twitches. "The ducks are concerning."
"The ducks," Candace says, "are just the ones I've found so far."
She turns toward the bar. Maggie's trays are spread across the top, but Candace is looking past them. She lifts a napkin holder. A rubber duck stares back. Her hand stills. She moves the cocktail shaker. Two more. She leans over the bar and looks down. The silence that follows is surgical.
Every shelf. Between every bottle. Lined up along the rail, a tiny yellow army. Stacked in the glass racks. Tucked into the ice well. Sitting in rows where the clean glasses should be. Hundreds of them. Identical. Smug. Watching her with painted black eyes.
