Chen's Kitchen smelled like ginger and victory. The neon "OPEN" sign flickered above the door, casting warm light over the folding tables where Marcus, Claire, Raymond, and Sophia sat. Plates of dumplings, fried rice, and hot and sour soup covered the table—Marcus's mom had cooked enough to feed a small army, her smile brighter than it had been in months.
"To family," Raymond said, raising a paper cup of tea. His eye was still blackened from the warehouse fight, but his grin was wide. "And to not getting shot."
They clinked cups, laughter mixing with the sound of a nearby street vendor's bell. Marcus looked at Claire, who was laughing at Sophia's story about Viktor tripping over a crate during the arrest. Her hair was pulled back, a strand falling loose—he'd noticed she did that when she was relaxed, like she didn't have to be "the FBI agent's daughter" or "the law student" for a minute.
Miller had left an hour earlier, after updating them on Ivan and Viktor: both were being held without bail, the Petrov Syndicate's LA operations shut down. But he'd warned them—"The syndicate's big. They'll send someone else. Stay alert."
Marcus's mom set a plate of egg tarts on the table. "Claire, you must take some back to New York. My recipe—best in the city."
Claire smiled, taking a tart. "Thank you, Mrs. Chen. I'll share them with my dormmates." She glanced at Marcus, her eyes soft. "I leave tomorrow. My first class is Wednesday."
Marcus's chest tightened. He'd known this was coming—she'd talked about NYU Law since they'd met—but now that it was here, it felt too soon. "I'll visit. Next weekend, if you want."
Claire nodded, her fingers brushing his under the table. "I want."
Raymond cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair. "I'm heading back to Seattle next week. My sister's sick—needs help with her kids. And… I think it's time I leave the poker games behind. For good."
Sophia's eyes widened. "No more cheating techniques tips?"
Raymond laughed, tossing her a deck of cards. "These are for you. My old trick deck—marked with invisible ink. Practice. You'll be better than me someday."
Sophia grinned, tucking the deck into her hoodie pocket. "I'm gonna ace my criminal justice exams. Then join the FBI. Miller said he'll write me a letter of recommendation."
Marcus smiled. It felt like pieces were falling into place—Claire chasing her law degree, Sophia chasing her agent dream, Raymond chasing peace. For the first time since moving to LA, he didn't feel like he was just surviving. He felt like he was living.
Later, when the restaurant closed, Marcus walked Claire to her hotel. The night air was cool, the street quiet except for the hum of cars. They stopped at a crosswalk, the light turning red.
Claire pulled a small box from her purse—his old deck of poker cards, the one he'd given her before she left for New York the first time. "I added something," she said, opening it. Each card had a tiny note scrawled on the back: "Section 1983—Civil Rights," "Miranda Warnings—Memorize!," "Call me when you're stressed."
Marcus laughed, taking the deck. "You're gonna make me pass accounting."
She smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I'm gonna make you do more than that. I'm gonna make you believe you don't need cheating techniques to win. You just need to be you."
He pulled out the FBI pen she'd given him months ago, twisting it in his hand. "For you. To remember—you're not alone. Even in New York."
The crosswalk light turned green. They walked in silence, their shoulders brushing. When they reached her hotel door, Claire hugged him tight.
"I'll call you every night," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
"I'll answer," he promised.
She pulled away, then hesitated. "Marcus? My dad's notebook—there's a page I didn't show you. He wrote about a 'New York Underground'—a network of poker games run by the syndicate. Miller thinks Ivan was just a middleman. There's someone bigger."
Marcus's jaw tightened. "I'll look into it. Promise."
She nodded, then went inside. Marcus stood there for a minute, watching her window light turn on. Then he pulled out his phone—an anonymous text had come in while they were walking:
"The syndicate's looking for Chen's old ledger. You have it. They'll come for you. New York. Next month."
He stared at the screen. The ledger—Raymond had hidden it in his Seattle apartment, said it was "too dangerous" to keep in LA. But someone knew he had it. Someone who was watching.
He texted Miller: "Anonymous tip—syndicate wants Chen's ledger. New York next month."
Miller replied seconds later: "I'll send agents to Seattle. Stay with Claire if you go. Be careful."
Marcus walked back to the restaurant, the poker deck in his pocket and the text burning in his mind. The syndicate wasn't done. The games weren't done.
But as he unlocked the restaurant door, he thought of Claire's notes on the cards, of Sophia's grin when she got the trick deck, of Raymond's promise to leave the games behind. He thought of his mom's dumplings, of the neon sign, of the life he was building here.
He wasn't the same kid who'd arrived in LA, scared and alone. He had people to fight for. People who fought for him.
The next morning, he drove Claire to the train station. She waved from the platform, the poker deck peeking out of her purse. Marcus waved back, his chest tight but his heart light.
He pulled out his phone, typing a text to the anonymous number: "I'm coming. New York. Next month."
No reply. But he didn't need one. He knew they'd see him there.
As he drove back to the restaurant, he turned on the radio—an old jazz song played, the same one Claire's dad had loved. He smiled, gripping the steering wheel.
The game was still on. But this time, he was ready.
For New York. For Claire. For the next chapter.
And whatever it brought.