4
The Gambler
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Tavon
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The four of us stride quickly down the corridor of the first floor, with titanium steel walls on each side. Along the way, we weave around scattered groups of travelers. Not one Death Officer is among them, and most everyone is dressed well compared to our ragged-looking group. Some styles I recognize from the Citadel: blazers and polo shirts; greased hair; powdered-over complexions. People from other cities around the world rock all kinds of clashing styles, like silk robes, corduroy suits, kimonos, and leather jackets of every color.
Everyone’s talking about the same thing, about a guy who can’t lose a single bet. I overhear that he’s been gambling nonstop at the casino for a few days now, and I start getting curious.
“Grandmaster Jia?” Ha
