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"Don't you dare fold on me now, Mercer."
Eve's nails dug into my wrist and pinned my hand flat over my cards. Her knee slammed into mine under the table.
"Let go," I hissed. "You're hurting me."
"Good. That means you still feel something." She didn't let go. Her eyes flicked to the doors. "You hear that?"
The sirens hit. Not cop sirens. The whole damn city.
A low wail rolled over Ashen City and every light in the Midnight Room stuttered. The dealer froze. The air went tight. Then a voice over the speakers, flat and cold.
"Council lockdown. Tier One sweep. All tables sealed. No one leaves."
Steel shutters slammed down over the windows. BAM. BAM. BAM. The main doors thudded and locked from the outside.
"What the hell is that?" I said.
"That," Eve said, "is you being stupid with that deck. They felt you use it."
"I didn't do anything!"
"You breathed wrong. They felt it anyway." She yanked me sideways, out of my chair, into the booth against the wall. Her body boxed me in. Shoulder to shoulder. Thigh to thigh. I could smell her perfume and the cold metal of whatever she had in her jacket. "Stay close. You run now, they tag you. You understand me?"
"You're the one who owns half my soul," I snapped. "You tell me."
"And I don't want my investment shot on night one. So shut up and do what I say."
The dealer at our table was sweating. He looked at Eve, then at me. "Broker Vane. We have to play. Protocol. If we're sealed, we play."
"I know," Eve said.
"I don't know anything," I said. "Someone want to explain why we're locked in?"
A guy across the table laughed. Big guy, scar through his eyebrow, cheap suit. He'd been winning all night. "Fresh meat. First time getting sealed, kid?"
"Not your kid," I said.
"He's with me," Eve cut in. Her hand was still on my wrist. Her thumb pressed right over the burn where the blood contract bit me last night. It throbbed. "He plays."
"He got anything to play with?" Scar said. He fanned his own cards. They weren't normal cards. They hummed. Black edges, red symbols that moved if you stared. Pact cards. "Or is the broker gonna stake him?"
Eve leaned in. Her mouth was an inch from my ear. Her breath was warm. "Listen to me. Very carefully. You need cash for your sister, right? Her debt is due in forty-eight hours."
"Don't say her name here," I said.
"I need you to win this pot. The pot is thirty grand and clean. No Council trace. You win, you can pay the first chunk. You lose..."
"I lose what? More soul?"
"Worse." She pulled a blank card from her sleeve and slapped it on the table in front of me. It was white. Empty. Cold. "You have to ante a memory. That's the rule for a sealed table. You put a real piece of yourself down. You lose, they take it. Council collects it. Gone. Not faded. Ripped out."
"No," I said. "No way. I'm not betting my head."
"You already did," she whispered. "Last night. When you signed with me. You think that was free? This is how it works, Cole. You want to eat, you feed the deck."
My hand was shaking. "What memory?"
"Something true. Something that matters. The deck knows if you lie." Her eyes held mine. Too close. I could see the flecks of gray in her green eyes. "Pick something small. Something you can live without."
"There's no small memory of her," I said. My throat went dry. "Every memory of my sister matters."
"Then pick one and live with it. Or we both get flagged for refusing a sealed table. And trust me, you don't want to be flagged."
Scar rapped the table. "Clock's ticking, broker. Ante up or we call the Arbiter."
The other two players at the table nodded. They were already placing their cards down. One put down a card that smelled like smoke. The other, a card that made my teeth ache just looking at it.
Eve's grip tightened. "Cole. Look at me. Just me."
I looked at her.
"Give it a name. Say it out loud. The deck needs to hear it."
My mouth was dry. I thought of Maya. Eight years old. Sitting on our crappy apartment floor. Me trying to fix the busted heater. Her humming that stupid lullaby our mom used to sing before she left. Off-key, loud, terrible. I used to hate it. Now it was the only thing that made her laugh when the debt collectors called.
"The lullaby," I whispered. "When she was eight. On the floor. She was humming. I remember... I remember her voice."
"Good," Eve said, but her voice was soft now. Not soft nice. Soft like a knife being careful. "Say it. 'I ante the memory of my sister humming on the floor.'"
"I ante the memory of my sister humming on the floor when she was eight," I said. My voice cracked.
The blank card flashed. Hot. It burned my fingertips. Ink bled across it from nowhere — a tiny, shaky drawing of a girl with her mouth open, singing. My chest lurched. Like something tugged behind my ribs.
"Jesus," I gasped. "What did it do?"
"It took hold," Eve said. "Now you win it back. You win, you keep it and the pot. You lose, it's gone forever and you won't even know what you lost."
"That's sick," I said.
"That's the game." She finally let go of my wrist and sat back, but her leg stayed pressed hard against mine. Trapping me. Claiming me. "Play."
The dealer dealt. Three cards face down to each of us. My deck — that cursed thing I inherited — pulsed in my jacket pocket like a heart. I didn't even touch it. One card slid out on its own and landed in my hand.
It was warm. It vibrated.
I flipped it.
The Reaper. Black cloak, scythe, eyes like empty holes. The card hummed so loud my teeth rattled.
Scar flipped his. A hound made of chains. The other players flipped theirs — a tower on fire, a hand full of eyes.
"Reaper beats hound," the dealer said, voice flat. "Reaper takes pot."
The pile of chips and the cash in the middle slid toward me. Thirty grand. Real. I could pay Maya's first installment. I could breathe.
Then it hit.
Not pain. Worse. Absence.
A cold wind ripped through my head. I grabbed the table. "Ah — what —"
"Breathe," Eve snapped, her hand on my back, fingers digging in. "Look at me. Breathe through it."
"Something's wrong," I choked. "Something's missing."
I tried to remember. Maya. Eight. Floor. Humming. I could see the floor. I could see the heater. I could see her mouth moving. But the sound... the sound was gone. Like someone cut the audio. I knew she was humming but I couldn't hear it. I couldn't remember the tune. I tried to hum it and nothing came out.
"No," I said. Louder. "No, no, no. Give it back. I won! I won, why is it gone?"
"You won the pot," Eve said, her voice low and fast, right against my ear. Her hand slid up to my neck, holding me steady. Her palm was hot. "But the ante always has a cost to play. Even when you win, it takes a little bite. That's the price. You kept the core. You lost the edges. You still know it happened. You just... don't feel it the same."
"You didn't tell me that!" I shoved her hand off. "You said I keep it if I win!"
"I said you keep it. I didn't say you keep it perfect." Her eyes were hard, but her mouth was tight. Like she hated saying it. "You wanted clean cash. That's what clean costs."
I stared at the card with the little singing girl. The ink was already fading. My hands were shaking so bad I knocked over my chips.
"Hey," Scar said, standing up. He wasn't smiling anymore. He reached into his cheap suit and pulled something out. Not a gun. Worse.
A badge. Black metal. A circle with a scale inside. Council.
My blood went ice.
"Cole Mercer," he said, and his voice was totally different now. Flat. Official. "Pact Holder, unregistered. Playing with an unlicensed deck. You're under Council hold."
He snapped cuffs on the table. Steel, but they glowed faint red. Soul-cuffs.
"You were the plant," Eve said. She didn't sound surprised. She sounded pissed.
"Broker Vane," Scar said. "You know the law. Harboring a rogue. That's a violation. Step away from him."
"He's my asset," Eve said. Her hand found mine again under the table and squeezed. Hard. Warning. "He's contracted to me. You touch him, you go through me. And my contract is Council-stamped."
"Not anymore." Scar clicked one cuff open. The sound was loud in the sealed room. The other players had vanished toward the walls. The dealer had his hands up. "Doors are locked. Sweep team is already inside. You really think we didn't know you'd be here? Silas Quinn wants his deck back."
The name hit like a slap. Silas Quinn.
The shutters on the doors rattled. Someone pounding from the outside. Heavy boots. More than one.
Eve went still. Her fingers laced through mine, tight enough to hurt. Her leg pressed harder. Not sexy. Desperate. Anchoring.
"Cole," she whispered, so only I could hear. Her lips barely moved. Her eyes were locked on the badge, on the cuffs coming for my wrists. "Whatever you do, don't let them take the deck. And don't you say a word about—"
The locks on the main doors clicked open with a heavy THUNK and Scar grabbed my arm—