Neville watched their reactions—the bickering, the laughter underneath the outrage.
He said nothing.
When his gaze drifted to the dealer's side of the table, Lilianna was already looking at him. She flashed a small smile.
The anger that curled through Neville's chest was quiet and cold.
I'm going to figure out your game, he thought, holding her stare for a second before dropping his eyes to his remaining chips. And when I do, you're going to wish you'd kept your hands clean.
Another five games had already slipped past like water through his fingers, through a maddening series of pushes and narrow losses.
Sarah's chip stack told a different story. It had been shrinking steadily, game after game, like a sandcastle meeting the tide.
He couldn't remember if she had even won a single game. And the worst part was that she didn't seem to realize it wasn't bad luck—it was planned.
The tenth game opened with the familiar whisper of cards across felt.
