The air inside the gambling den was thick with tobacco and the faint tang of spilled liquor, curling around the dim, amber lights like a warning. Cards shuffled, dice clattered against worn tables, murmurs layered over each other a quiet chaos humming under the surface.
The Detective emerged from the shadows, lean and unreadable, leaning against a pillar like he belonged to the smoke itself. His eyes tracked me without moving his head. "You're surviving longer than most," he said. "That makes you dangerous. Or marked."
I arched an eyebrow, letting the sarcasm slip as a shield. "Marked by who? The city? Fate? A particularly vengeful barista?"
"Not who," he said, voice low and deliberate. "What."
I swallowed, letting the words sink. The room seemed to contract, the smoke curling tighter, the low buzz of the crowd sharpening into a pressure against my chest. "Not helpful," I muttered under my breath.
He smirked faintly, a movement that didn't touch his eyes. "Helpful isn't my job. Surviving is yours. Remember that."
I studied the people around us, their subtle glances, the way a chip was tucked under a sleeve, the nods that carried secrets. Every detail was a thread. Every movement, a potential trap.
"Any advice?" I asked, voice dry. Not really expecting one.
"Watch patterns. Learn who moves in the shadows. Trust nothing that looks obvious. And keep your hands clean, sometimes the best strike is the one they never see coming."
I nodded, letting the cigarette burn low between my fingers. Smoke spiraled up, merging with the ambient haze. "So subtlety, observation, suspicion… got it. Basically, my usual Tuesday."
He stepped back, fading into the haze of the room, leaving me to the murmurs, the low clinking of chips, and the soft rustle of cards. My eyes tracked a man across the room, noting the angle of his lean, the twitch in his fingers. A small detail, meaningless to anyone else but to me, a potential signal.
As the Detective vanished, I whispered, almost to myself, "Surviving isn't enough. Not in this city. Not with them watching." The smoke curled around my words, carrying the weight of his warning, and the hum of the den pressed in like the city itself, reminding me that every observation had a cost.