It was a busy afternoon at the Mist Horizon, the kind of casino where the carpet alone probably cost more than my mother's car. People crowded around tables I didn't understand the rules to, shouting and laughing at cards and dice like the outcome actually mattered to anyone but them.
"Can I see your ID."
I turned to find a wall of a man standing behind me — built like he benched cars for fun, a scar slicing clean across the bridge of his nose. "Before you enter," he said, "I need to confirm you're allowed in here."
"Oh — sorry." I fumbled my wallet out of my back pocket, hands not quite steady. Up close, the scar made him look meaner than his voice actually sounded, and there was something almost gentle in the way his eyes — bright blue, startling against all that intimidating muscle — settled on my face instead of the ID itself.
"Is everything okay?" I asked, since he was taking an unusually long time to look at a piece of plastic.
"Yes, sir," he said, snapping back into focus and handing the ID back with something that might have been a smile if I squinted. "You can go in. Have a good time at the Mist Horizon."
"Thanks," I said, already walking past him toward the noise.
What was that about, I thought, glancing back once to watch him disappear through a side door. Scariest guy I've ever met, and he looked at me like I was the one who needed protecting.
I didn't have time to think about it further. I had one job tonight, and it had nothing to do with cards or dice: find the token storage room, take what I could carry, and get out before anyone noticed.
The plan had been forming for weeks, ever since the hospital sent another bill that made my mother go quiet in the particular way she went quiet when something scared her more than she wanted to admit. Karen's surgery was real this time — not maybe, not someday, but scheduled, with a number attached to it that made my stomach drop every time I did the math on my tips. I needed money fast, and the club wasn't going to get me there in time. So here I was, in a casino I'd never set foot in before, looking for an unlocked door and an unwatched cart.
A waitress offered me champagne before I'd gone twenty feet. I took it without really registering what I was drinking, eyes already scanning the room for a door that looked like it led somewhere employees-only. I spotted one near the back, close to where staff kept moving in and out with trays, and started working my way toward it with what I hoped looked like aimless, drunk wandering instead of a man casing a room.
I didn't make it. A second waiter intercepted me with more champagne before I got within ten feet of the door, and by the time he walked off, my nerve had gone soft and stupid. Don't look suspicious, I told myself. Sit somewhere. Look normal. Try again in a minute.
I dropped into the nearest open seat at a table that already had an older man passed out on one end and, on the other, someone who looked like he'd stepped directly out of a cologne ad.
"May I sit here," I asked, mostly out of manners at this point.
"Oh — yes, you can," he said, voice deep enough to make the question feel important.
He had dark hair cut with surgical precision, a beard trimmed close enough to look intentional rather than lazy, and the kind of face that seemed unfair to put on one person. I sat down before my brain caught up with how hard I was staring.
"What brings you here," he asked, smiling.
"I'm just seeing why everyone likes casinos so much," I said, which was true in the loosest possible sense.
"First time here?"
"It is," I admitted, with a weak laugh. "How could you tell?"
"Because I've never seen you before," he said, "and I come here a lot."
We talked for longer than I meant to — long enough that I forgot, briefly, why I was even there. He told me his name was River. I told him mine, the real one, because lying felt unnecessary with someone who clearly had no reason to care either way. Somewhere in the middle of it, he caught me blushing and called it cute, which made me blush harder, which he seemed to find endlessly entertaining.
When I turned to look at the storage room door again — the one thing I actually needed to focus on — River followed my gaze.
"I think you're cute," he said, "and you dropped this, by the way."
When I turned back, there was a key card sitting next to my champagne glass, and River was already gone. I never even saw him stand up.
I sat there for a second, staring at the card, my pulse doing something complicated. This isn't mine, I thought. Where did he even go?
But a gift was a gift, and I wasn't about to question the universe handing me exactly what I needed. I pocketed the card, stood up, and made my way toward the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY — CASINO TOKEN STORAGE, my heart hammering with every step.
The card slid into the slot like it belonged there. A soft beep, a click, and the door gave way under my hand.