"I've never—" He stopped, swallowed hard, his throat working visibly. "No one's ever seen me like that before."
"Then no one's been paying attention," I said simply, my voice firm with conviction, gathering the cards. "Who's next?"
Remy bounded into the chair like an excited puppy, all golden energy and barely contained enthusiasm, his amber eyes bright with curiosity.
"Lay it on me, chere," he said, rubbing his hands together with exaggerated eagerness, his dimple cutting deep. "What deep dark secrets do your mysterious cards reveal about little old me?"
I handed him the deck, keeping my expression neutral. "Shuffle. Focus," I instructed, my voice gentle but firm.
He shuffled with surprising skill—quick, fluid movements that spoke of practice. "I may have played a lot of poker in my misspent youth," he admitted when he caught me watching, hisdimple flashing, his amber eyes dancing. "Cards and I are old friends."
"Different kind of cards," I said, taking them back when he finished, feeling the warmth his hands had left on the paper. "Different kind of truth."
I spread them, let my hand hover, and pulled three.
The Fool.
"Past," I said, and Remy's grin faltered slightly, uncertainty creeping into his amber eyes, his body tensing almost imperceptibly.
"That's... not great, right?" he asked, his voice losing some of its bravado. "The Fool?"
"It's not an insult," I assured him, studying the image of the figure about to step off a cliff, his face turned toward the sky. "The Fool is about beginnings. Potential. Taking leaps without knowing where you'll land. But also..." I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, knowing this would hit close to home. "Recklessness. Running before you know what you're running from. Moving so fast you don't have to feel what's chasing you."
Remy's jaw tightened, his easy charm cracking at the edges, something wounded flickering in his amber eyes. "Yeah," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "That sounds about right."
I turned the second card.
Temperance.
"Present," I said, relief softening my voice, a smile tugging at my lips. "Balance. Patience. Integration. You're learning to stand still, Remy. Learning that not every problem can be outrun." I met his eyes, held them steady. "You're finding your center. Mixing the different parts of yourself into something whole."
"That a good thing?" he asked, vulnerability bleeding through his voice, his usual mask entirely absent.
"It's a necessary thing," I said gently, my hand reaching out to brush his knee. "The Fool had potential. Temperance is learning to use it."
The third card.
The Sun.
Remy stared at it—the bright figure, the radiant light, the pure joy emanating from every line of the image.
"Future," I said, and my voice came out thick with emotion, my heart squeezing almost painfully. "Happiness, Remy. Real happiness. Not the kind you perform, not the kind you use to hide. The Sun is about authenticity. About finally being able to be yourself—all of yourself—without fear."
His eyes were wet when they met mine, his amber irises swimming with emotions I'd rarely seen him let show. "You really believe that?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, stripped of all pretense. "That I could be... happy?"
"I don't believe it," I said firmly, reaching across to cup his face in my hands, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. "I know it. The cards know it. The only one who doesn't know it yet is you." He kissed me then—not the lazy, teasing kisses from this morning, but something deeper, something desperate and grateful and achingly tender.
"Thank you," he breathed against my lips, his voice breaking on the words.
"Don't thank me," I said, wiping a stray tear from his cheek with my thumb, feeling my own eyes burn. "Just stay. Just be happy."
"Working on it," he promised, his dimple appearing through the tears, his smile wobbling but real. "Working on it."
Silas approached the table like he was approaching an enemy position—careful, watchful, every sense on alert, his pale eyes scanning for threats that weren't there.
"You don't have to do this," I reminded him gently, the deck held loosely in my hands. "If it's too?—"
"I want to," he said, cutting me off, his voice quiet but certain, his jaw set with determination. He sat across from me, his scarred hands flat on his thighs, his pale eyes fixed on mine. "I need to."
