Alexei suggested the beach. No one said yes, but no one said no with enough force to stop it. So the next thing they knew, they were piling out of a black government SUV in the parking lot of some lake resort Alexei found on Yelp. How? No one knew.

The beach wasn’t crowded, off-season, early morning, but warm enough for sun, water, and whatever this experiment was.

Alexei was already in the water. Not swimming. Just standing waist-deep like a statue, arms folded across his chest, letting waves slap against him as if he were daring the tide to try something.

He wore a vintage Soviet swim brief. Red. Tight. No shame. “I am one with the ocean!” he shouted.

John walked past, muttering, “You’re one health code violation away from getting us arrested.”

John had claimed he wasn’t coming. Then showed up. With sunglasses, a folded lawn chair, and three energy drinks.

Yelena had staked out a spot in the shade with a pair of knock-off designer sunglasses, and snacks she very obviously did not buy at the concession stand.

“Is that homemade borscht?” Bob asked, blinking.

“Yes,” she said without looking up. “I packed for everyone but am not sharing.”

She was clearly thrilled to be there. But, of course, insisted the sun was “stupid and capitalist” and that she hated the beach.

Ava was quiet, not saying much.

Bob, meanwhile, was wearing a floppy hat and floral swim trunks. He was having the best day. But he would never admit it.

Bucky showed up in black swim trunks and a dark gray T-shirt he refused to take off. He hadn’t spoken more than three words since they got there, sitting on a folding chair. His vibranium arm glinted in the sun, and the only thing that moved was his eyebrow every time Alexei yelled something at the waves.