The restaurant hummed with an almost comfortable warmth, the kind that wrapped around Beverly like a heavy blanket. Golden lanterns hung low, casting their flickering glow over walls lined with battered old posters and dark wood, softened with the haze of incense that swirled faintly through the air. The scent of spices was thick and earthy, mingling with the sharp tang of sizzling garlic and ginger from the kitchen beyond. Despite the noise of clinking glasses and low chatter from nearby tables, a strange silence seemed to cling to their corner of the room. It was as if the world narrowed around the seven of them, pushing everything else to the periphery.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself as her gaze swept over her friends, some of whom she hadn’t seen in nearly three decades. Bill was shifting uneasily beside her, absently tapping his drink against the table, while Eddie’s fingers twitched against his napkin, picking at a stray thread. Across from her, Ben sat quietly, his eyes flickering around the room, as if searching for familiar comfort in the unfamiliar. She could tell he’d changed more than any of them, though his shy smile was the same. And Richie—he was already on his third drink, cracking jokes that made the others laugh too loud, though his laughter held an edge she recognized all too well.

Beverly leaned back, the clink of ice in her glass matching her heartbeat as she sipped her whiskey. The alcohol was smooth, smoky, lingering like old memories. She wasn’t ready to think about Derry or the thing that had lurked there, but she could feel a weight pressing in, unspoken but undeniable, between each of them. Glancing at Richie, she could almost sense that he felt it too—the tension, the shadow from their past looming just out of sight. But for now, he was hiding it, and she couldn’t help but smile as he leaned in, flashing a crooked grin, that familiar, boyish light still sparking behind his eyes.