Fern
The room feels different with only the two of us left.
No laughter. No shuffling feet. Just the table between us, the deck of cards, and the steady weight of Gaven's attention. He takes the chair opposite mine without asking, long fingers already reaching for the deck.
"You're better than they expected," he says.
"Everyone is good at something," I reply lightly. "I guess I am good at poker."
"You are good at more than just poker," he says, but I don't answer him. I don't need his flattery, not after he has ignored me for the better part of a week.
Gaven takes the hint and deals the cards.
They slide across the table with practiced ease, his movements are precise and controlled. I study his hands more than the cards at first. I see how relaxed they look, how litt
