Chapter 11 · Kid's Last Year

"Fold or bleed, Cole. Your choice," Eve whispered, her breath warm against the shell of my ear.

She didn't move her hand from my shoulder, but I could feel the pressure of her nails digging through my shirt. We were tucked in the shadow of a velvet curtain in the back of the Underground—a place where the air tasted like expensive cigars and desperate sweat. Across the table, the Dealer didn't have a face, just a mask of polished obsidian that reflected my own panicked expression.

"I can't fold," I rasped. My voice sounded like I'd been swallowing glass. "If I lose this hand, I don't just lose the chips. I lose the lease on my sister's soul. You know that."

Eve leaned closer, her perfume—something like vanilla and burnt ozone—filling my lungs. She let out a small, sharp laugh. "That's the problem with you, ex-cop. You still think there's a right way to do this. There is no right way. There's only the way that keeps you breathing."

I looked down at my cards. A monster hand. A Royal Flush of the Pact Deck. In any other game, I'd be screaming. Here, it felt like a death sentence.