Chapter 12 · The Gambler's Ticket

"Stop fidgeting. You're ruining the line of the jacket," Evelyn snapped, her fingers tightening around the lapel of the charcoal wool coat she’d practically forced him into.

Kane shifted his weight, feeling like a fraud in a costume. The fabric was too soft, the cut too precise. He felt like a stray dog that had been scrubbed clean and put in a tuxedo just to be mocked by the people inside. "I feel like a damn penguin. A penguin that’s about to get shot if anyone recognizes me."

"That’s why you’re going to keep your mouth shut and look bored," she said, stepping back to survey her work. Her eyes trailed from his boots up to his jawline, a flicker of something—appreciation or maybe just victory—crossing her face.

"Bored and arrogant. That’s the currency here. If you look like you’re trying too hard, they’ll smell the desperation. And trust me, in this room, desperation is the only thing that gets you killed faster than a bad bet."

Kane looked at her. She was wearing a dress that looked like it was woven from liquid midnight, clinging to her curves in a way that made his throat go dry.