The casino doesn’t creak when it shifts.
That’s the unnerving part.
One minute: silence.
Next minute:
— a second blackjack pit,
— four new cameras,
— a murder in the elevator.
Business as usual.
I start my rounds the same way I always do: from the top.
They’re not fighting now.
Not physically.
But I see it—
Stress in their posture.
Glances over shoulders.
The residue of something unfinished.
The Cathedral changed them.
I didn’t twist the knife.
They did it themselves.
Amaranth.
VIP lounge.
Private sermons in candlelight and martinis.
Still preaching. New scripture.
“You let a devil take the pulpit,” she says, back turned.
“Better than a narcissist who thinks she is the pulpit.”
“She was consistent.”
“You mean predictable.”
“I mean tolerable.”
Nothing else to say.
She blesses the next guest with a napkin.
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I walk.
Xyntra intercepts mid-floor.
Two drinks.
One glowing chip.
“This one triggers hallucinations,” she grins. Tosses it like candy.
“Wanna try it on the security guards?”
I decline.
She shrugs.
No hard feelings.
She doesn’t want a boss.
She wants freedom.
I give it.
Miren. Surveillance.
Of course she sees me first.
Always does.
Dozens of notebooks.
Every monitor labeled in pen.
Everything aligned.
No smile.
No greeting.
Just one line:
“I still record everything.”
“Good. The House prefers accuracy.”
No nod.
No eye contact.
Just tension.
She watches too long.
She doesn’t trust me.
Koko.
Hallway ambush.
“Yin-chaaaaan~!”
Cherry cola and chaos.
Glitter in her hair.
Knife in her hand—Enma’s idea of a joke.
“Did you see my show last night? The fireworks weren’t scheduled but they felt right, y’know?”
I pat her head.
She squeals.
She likes me.
She liked Himeko too.
She’d like a corpse if it complimented her shoes.
Stable. Sort of.
Enma doesn’t wait.
She doesn’t need to.
I find her dragging a guest out of high-stakes.
Blood on the carpet. Again.
“You’re not gonna stop me?”
“Should I?”
“No.”
She grins.
Real. Honest. Relieved.
“She never let me breathe.”
“You’re not breathing. You’re butchering.”
“Same thing.”
I let her go.
She’s not safe.
But she’s honest.
And that’s rare currency.
Nozomi. Last.
Not at her post.
Not at the slots.
Nowhere.
I find her curled beneath the breakroom counter—
Blanket.
Stolen badge.
Eyes open.
Not afraid.
Just annoyed.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you. But here we are.”
She doesn’t move.
“The House shouldn’t of let you win.”
“It did.”
She’s the only one who makes me feel like I haven’t won.
Ironic—coming from someone who never leaves the floor.
Back to the top level.
The House hums.
Not approval.
Not disapproval.
Just… presence.
I look down.
They’re still working.
Still showing up.
Still following the rules.
Mostly.
But something’s different.
I feel it in the walls.
A shift.
Someone else is here.
She hasn’t shown herself.
But the House knows.
Light’s colder.
Layout’s frozen.
She’s back.
And I’ve never been more awake.
“Place your bets.”