“You were never that strong,” she tells him, slamming her elbow down.
“I’ve been lifting the emotional baggage you left me with for years,” he replies, setting his own.
They grip hands.
The whole room leans in as they strain, faces contorting like this is more important than any gunfight.
For a second, Blackjack has the advantage. Then Liberty grins and slams his hand down the rest of the way with a sharp crack against the tabletop.
The room erupts.
Blackjack winces, shaking his hand out.
“Cheating,” 8-Ball says.
“With what, my biceps?” Liberty replies.
“You distracted him,” Tanya calls. “He’s old. His back probably locked up mid-match. Typical man excuses, you know?”
“Fuck all of you,” Blackjack says, but he’s smiling.
He calls for more drinks with a wave and gets them.
Cali wanders over to the bar at some point. She looks younger than most of us until you see the way her eyes never stop scanning the room. She’s seen just asmuch as the rest of us, if not more.
“Valkyrie,” she says—voice still rough from her injury—sliding onto the stool next to her. “You said you wanted to introduce me to someone before we ride back?”
Valkyrie twists in my arms slightly, eyes lighting just a little.
“Yeah,” she says. She nods at Jackal. “Cali, this is Jackal. Jackal, Cali. He’s the one I told you about—the one who keeps this place running while everyone else pretends alcohol replenishes itself.”
Jackal blinks, caught mid-wipe on a glass.
“Hi,” he says. “Uh. Welcome to the Devil’s Daycare.”
Cali smiles, slow.
“Hi,” she says back. “Valkyrie told me you’re the one who alphabetized the bottles back there.”
He looks offended. “Of course I did. How else do you find anything when everyone’s shouting for something different?”
“You color-coded the pour spouts too?” she asks.
He squints. “You snooping?”
“I like systems,” she says. “And I like people who like systems.” She leans a little closer, elbows on the bar. “So… serious question. When it’s late and quiet and nobody’s looking, what’s your go-to game? Mario Kart or old-school Tetris on a beat-up console somebody left under the TV?”
He stares at her like she’s just proposed marriage.
“Tetris,” he saysimmediately. “Mario Kart is what you play when you’re pretending you’re not anxious. Tetris is what you play when you accept that you are.”
Her smile widens.
“I fucking knew it,” she says. “You’re my people.”
He laughs, a little helplessly.
They’re still talking fifteen minutes later, deep in some debate about the perfect playlist and then onto the best horror franchise. They agreed on Scream.
