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.

Bryan peeled up the corner of his cards with two fingers—a ten and a seven.

Seventeen.

He glanced once at Lilianna’s face-up card—a five—and leaned back in his chair.

"Stand," he said, without ceremony.

Sarah’s cards were next.

A four and an ace.

Fifteen in soft terms, but she was already fidgeting. Her fingers drummed against the felt in a staccato that matched her heartbeat.

Ten games of bleeding chips had made her restless and sharp-edged.

"I’m hitting," she announced.

Across the table, Neville’s stomach turned a slow, quiet knot. He already knew that the next card was a ten.

Sarah was going to eat it, and there was nothing he could do about it without revealing exactly how he knew.

The card came face-up with a soft snap against the felt.

Ten.

Sarah stared at it. Her soft total of fifteen had turned into a hard fifteen—four, ace, ten.

Not bust, but stuck.

Hitting again on fifteen was a real gamble.

"Stand," she muttered, devoid of emotion.

Lilianna showed a sympathetic expression. "Tough draw, Sis."

Of course it was, Neville thought, keeping his gaze fixed on his own cards. You dealt it to her on purpose.

His own hand stared up at him: a king and a five.

Fifteen.

The same number as Sarah’s dead hand, and just as dangerous.

But unlike Sarah, Neville already knew what was going to be the next card.

Before his turn came, though, Julius had to play.

Julius looked at his eight and six—fourteen.

Sarah’s ten had clearly spooked him. If the shoe was running hot with face cards, hitting on fourteen was suicide.

Neville leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, with casual indifference.

Then, just loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, "You’ve been winning for a while, Julius. Why not have a little fun and take a hit?"

Julius turned to look at him. His eyes narrowed slightly, alert, calculating, and suspicious.

"Fun?" Julius repeated carefully.

Neville shrugged. "It’s a game. Games are meant to be played, not stressed over."

Behind Neville, Grayson’s eyes narrowed and darkened as he watched Neville tilt his head when he spoke to Julius. The small, deliberate pause before each suggestion.

Grayson took a slow sip of his drink and said nothing.

Julius contemplated it and ultimately shrugged.

"Fine. Hit."

Lilianna slid the card free.

A three.

Julius’s fourteen became seventeen, and he let out a breath of relief. He turned to Neville with curiosity. He then reached and bumped his fist against Neville’s knuckles.

"Good call."

Neville smiled mysteriously and said, "Lucky guess."

Now it was his turn.

King and five.

Fifteen.

In any ordinary game against a dealer showing five, the textbook play was to stand—let the dealer bust.

But this wasn’t an ordinary game, and Lilianna wasn’t playing the role of a fair dealer.

Neville had already mapped the next two cards in the sequence.

If he stood, the six was still next in line for Ciel, and the card after that—the one Lilianna would draw—should be the six.

If Ciel played conservatively, if he stopped at fifteen or sixteen, the six and the king after that would slam into Lilianna’s total and push her past twenty-one.

Bust.

Everyone wins.

He needed to take the hit.

"Hit," Neville said.

The card came: a two.

Seventeen.

Bryan gave Neville an approving nod from across the table.

"Seventeen on a hit. Not bad."

"Thank you," Neville replied.

Then it was Ciel’s turn, and everything went sideways.

Ciel stared down at his three and six intensely.

Nine.

Obviously, he hit.

The card came: a six.

Fifteen.

Neville watched it land and felt the gears of his plan click into place.

Fifteen.

Ciel should stand here like any reasonable player facing a dealer’s five would stand on fifteen.

The other six were next.

Just stand, Neville willed silently. Take the fifteen, eat it. Let the dealer crash and burn.

Ciel tilted his head and drummed his fingers once, twice against the felt.

"Again," he said.

Neville’s left eye twitched.

No. No, no, no—

"Hit," Ciel confirmed, confidently

Lilianna’s hand moved, hiding a small smile on her face.

The card emerged.

A six.

Three, six, six, six—twenty-one.

The table erupted.

"Twenty-one!" Sarah shrieked, momentarily forgetting her own misery. She slapped the felt with both palms. "Ciel, you absolute lunatic!"

Julius whistled.

Bryan raised an eyebrow, clapping.

Even Thiago let out a whoop and raised his glass.

Ciel leaned back with a bright smile, satisfied and smug. Completely oblivious to the carnage he had just caused.

Because the six was gone now, eaten by Ciel’s reckless hit. The next card in the shoe should be a king.

Neville kept his expression pleasant while his internal monologue was wailing.

You had fifteen. Fifteen! Against a dealer’s card is a five! What kind of degenerate gambler hits on fifteen against a five?! I—

He breathed slowly, not letting his frustration be noticed.

Lilianna turned over her hole card.

A two. Her total: seven.

She drew again.

The card was a king—the very king that should have been her undoing if Ciel had shown an ounce of restraint.

Seventeen.

The dealer stands on seventeen.

The table went quiet as the results sank in their minds.

Bryan: seventeen. Push.

Julius: seventeen. Push.

Neville: seventeen. Push.

Sarah: fifteen. Loss.

Ciel: twenty-one. Win.