Heat creeps up my neck.
"Your turn, Vee," Alex says.
I drag my eyes away from Malcolm's chest and look at my cards.
I draw one from the pile.
It matches two I already have.
"Ha!" I lay them down. "Three of a kind."
"See?" Finn gestures at me. "It's too easy. Someone rigged the deck."
"Or you're bad at this," Malcolm repeats.
Finn's glare could melt steel.
Alex plays his turn. Smooth and efficient. Then lays down four matching cards without comment.
"Oh, come on!" Finn says.
I glance toward the living room.
Drake is on the couch, eyes open this time, not pretending to sleep.
He's watching the table. Watching us. His gaze moves from Finn's theatrical frustration to Malcolm's grin to Rhys sitting at the end with his empty space where his cards used to be.
Then it lands on me.
I look back at my hand.
Malcolm follows my gaze toward the couch. His expression flattens briefly.
"Your turn," he says, redirecting.
I play my turn and discard.
Finn draws then makes a sound of vindication and lays down three cards.
"Finally," he says. "Some justice in this world."
"Congratulations on doing the bare minimum," Malcolm says.
Finn makes an obscene hand gesture.
Rhys draws a card and adds it to the small stack he's rebuilt since going out. His second hand is already forming with the same efficiency as his first.
None of us comment on this. We've collectively decided to pretend it isn't happening.
"Your turn, Vee," Alex says.
I draw, get a match and lay them down.
Malcolm nods. "Good."
Something about how he says it makes me suspicious.
"Did you just let me win that?"
