Chapter 43: The Card Game
The kitchen emptied in a quiet, purposeful drift, everyone carrying something toward the common room. Rosa led the way with a basket of dried apple slices under one arm and Roy cupped in her opposite hand, his tiny frame warm against her palm. Behind her, Sandy hauled a kettle of dandelion tea while Jayden and Joan balanced a tin of roasted grain between them. The men followed with the furniture.
"Push that couch back another foot," Rosa called over her shoulder, setting her basket on the low table by the stove. "We need a proper circle, not a lecture hall."
Jason grunted, already straining against the worn floral couch. Lee grabbed the other end, and together they dragged it across the scarred floorboards. Amie and Ally wrestled a pair of armchairs into place, their low conversation halting only when Jason let out a theatrical groan.
"Careful," Rosa said, "that's the best couch we have. If you break it, you're sleeping on the roof."
"Worth it," Jason muttered, but he eased the couch down gently enough.
Roy shifted in Rosa's hand as she settled onto a cushion she'd wedged against the couch's arm. She set him on her knee, and he immediately grabbed the fabric of her pants to steady himself, looking around at the room taking shape. The fire crackled in the stove, casting shifting orange light across the walls. The lantern on the corkboard flickered, shadows dancing over the maps pinned there.
"All right," Rosa said, pulling a battered deck of cards from her vest pocket. The box was creased and stained, the edges softened with use. "Who remembers how to play?"
"Depends." Jayden dropped into one of the armchairs, crossing her legs. "Are we talking rummy, or are we talking the kind of poker that ends with someone losing their shirt?"
"Nobody's losing a shirt," Sandy said firmly, setting the kettle down and settling onto the couch beside Rosa. "It's too cold for that."
"Not if we build up the fire enough," Lee said, and Sandy threw a dried apple slice at him. He caught it with surprising dexterity for a man concussed a week ago and popped it into his mouth.
The others found their seats, arranging themselves in a loose circle around the low table. Joan pulled her notebook from her pocket, then paused, seeming to realize what she was doing. She tucked it away again with a small, self-conscious smile. Amie and Ally shared an armchair, Amie's long legs folded awkwardly over the armrest, a small collection of fidgets spread on the cushion beside him.
Rosa dealt the cards with practiced ease, fingers moving quickly even with two hands. Roy watched from his perch on her knee, tilting his head to follow the motion. The cards were large to him, nearly the size of his entire body, and the sound of them flipping across the table was like a rushing wind.
"You going to play, little man?" Jason asked, leaning forward from the opposite couch. He grinned down at Roy, his smile softening the sharp angles of his face in the firelight. "I could deal you in. Make you a tiny hand."
"Bet he'd cheat," Lee said. "Look at him up there. Master strategist."
"As if you'd even notice," Roy called up, his voice thin and reedy but carrying in the relatively quiet room. "You squint at your cards like they're written in a language you don't speak."
The table went silent for one heartbeat, two, and then Lee burst out laughing, a genuine, startled sound that had him sinking back against the couch cushions. "Little bastard," he said, shaking his head. "I walked right into that."
The laugh rippled outward. Jayden snorted into her teacup. Joan's shoulders shook with a quiet laugh she tried to hide behind her hand. Even Amie cracked a smile, his usual reserve slipping just enough to show he was enjoying himself.
Rosa grinned, dealing the last of the cards. "He's got sharp eyes," she said, as if that explained everything. "You're all going to have to watch your tells."
The game started slow, everyone feeling their way back into the rhythm of it. Sandy won the first hand with a quiet "how about that" that made Jayden groan. Jayden won the second, crowing and doing a small victory wiggle that nearly sent her cards sliding off her knee. Rosa lost the third hand spectacularly, holding a mess of mismatched cards that even Alistair wouldn't have claimed as a strategy.
"You're not even trying," Jason accused, peering across the room at her hand.
Rosa shrugged, flipping her cards face-up to show a handful of sevens and twos. "Some of us are playing for the company, not the glory." She shuffled the deck, her fingers moving in a practiced riffle that caught Roy's attention.
He was watching her hands, the precision of the motion, the way she'd done it a thousand times. There was comfort in it, in the everyday-ness of it, and he felt something tight in his chest begin to loosen. The walkers on the boundary, Silas out there somewhere, the cold certainty that they were not safe and might never be safe again; all of it faded just a little against the warmth of the stove and the sound of his people laughing.
"Your deal," Rosa said, holding the deck down toward him.
Roy blinked. He looked from the deck to her face. She was smiling, that sharp-edged smile she reserved for when she was testing him. "You want me to shuffle that?"
"It's a deck of cards, not a piano. You can manage."
He could, barely, if he used his whole body. The cards were thick and heavy, and he had to brace his feet against her knee to get any leverage, but he pressed one card down with his palms, then another, working them together in a clumsy shuffle that made a few of them flutter and drift to the floor. Ally leaned down and scooped the escapees up, handing them back with a gentle nod.
"There," Roy said, breathing hard from the effort. "Dealt."
"Impressive," Joan observed. "That's royal treatment, getting a personal dealer."
The game resumed, and Roy stayed on Rosa's knee, watching the play unfold. She lost again, this time to Amie, who'd gone quiet and intense and somehow cornered the deck into a neat win. Amie's face lit up briefly, and Ally squeezed his shoulder, and the moment was so unremarkable, so normal, that Roy felt a prickle behind his eyes.
This was what they were fighting for. Not the supplies, or the walls, or the careful vials of mashed vegetables Sandy made him eat. This. The fire, and the cards, and the weight of Rosa's leg beneath him, and the sound of people he loved laughing at nothing at all.
Rosa lost the next hand too, and the one after that. Roy noticed. He knew something was up; she’d screw them over any time they played before, her ability to subtly count cards or identify their tells second to none.
Jayden started telling a story about a walker that had gotten tangled in a fence on the east boundary, so dumb and lurching that she and Joan had stood there watching it for a full five minutes before putting it down. Joan interjected with corrections, and they bickered amiably, and the fire crackled, and the tea went around again.
During the story, Roy climbed from Rosa's knee up her arm, scrambling over her sleeve to the shelf of her collarbone. It was a familiar climb now, his body finding all the right holds, and she tilted her head slightly to give him room without even thinking about it.
"Hey," he said quietly, into her ear. "You're letting everyone win."
"Maybe." Her voice was pitched low, just for him. "Or maybe I'm just that bad at cards."
"You're not. I've seen you count the deck when you think no one's watching."
She hummed, neither confirming nor denying, and dealt another hand. Her cards were hidden from the others, but Roy could see them from his vantage point: a strong hand, actually. Good enough to take the pot.
He didn't need to see the cards after that. She played them like she was trying to lose, hesitating on discards she should have kept, calling on hands she should have folded. When the pot went to Jayden a third time in a row, Roy leaned closer to Rosa's ear.
"That was a full house," he said. "You just threw it away."
"Did I?" She sounded genuinely curious, not guilty. Her fingers shuffled the next hand with that same practiced ease, dealing everyone in without looking at her own cards.
"Rosa."
"Roy."
"You folded a winning hand on purpose. That's not bad luck, that's a choice."
"Maybe I'm tired of winning," she said, her voice soft enough that the others, arguing about whether Jayden had dealt from the bottom, couldn't hear her. "Maybe I just want to sit here and not have to think about what comes next."
Roy was quiet for a moment, the fire popping and hissing in the stove. The question he wanted to ask sat heavy on his tongue, but he knew better than to push when she was like this. He'd learned that about her over the months, the way she went quiet when something was weighing on her, the way she'd deflect with a joke or a shrug instead of saying what she actually meant.
So he just watched her play the next hand, and the one after that. She lost again, this time to Sandy, who collected her meager pile of dried fruit chips with a grin that softened her whole face. The others were loosening up now, the awkward rustiness of the first few hands dissolving into something easier. Lee was telling Joan about the water filter system, gesturing so enthusiastically he almost knocked over his tea. Ally had her head tilted toward Amie, listening to something he was saying in a low voice, her knuckles resting against his shoulder.
The fire burned low, and someone stoked it. The room smelled like woodsmoke and tea and people existing together without the constant pressure of survival pressing down on them.
"You know," Roy said quietly, into the shell of Rosa's ear, "you don't have to lose on purpose for this to count."
She dealt another hand, and he saw her look at her cards. This time, there was a flicker of something on her face, a split-second calculation she thought she'd hidden. She had a great hand, and she knew it.
"Fold," she said, tossing her cards down.
"Rosa—"
"Your turn, Jason." She leaned back against the couch, settling deeper into the cushions, and Roy felt her shoulder rise in a small, loose shrug. "I'm out."
Jason looked at her, his brow furrowing. He'd been eyeing her throughout the game, Roy realized. He must have noticed too, the pattern of her losses, the way she kept bowing out early. "You sure? Your hand looked fine from here."
"I'm sure." Her tone was light, almost careless, but Roy could hear the thread underneath it. Something tired. Something worn smooth from too many days of being the one who held things together, who made the calls, who kept them all alive.
Jason's expression softened. He didn't push. He just said, "Okay," and turned back to his own cards, but Roy caught the look he shot her, warm and understanding.
The game continued without her. Jayden won the next hand, and the one after that, her competitive streak emerging as she started trash-talking Lee with increasing enthusiasm. The laughter grew louder, less rusted. Even Joan unfurled a little, allowing herself to be drawn into Amie and Ally's low-pitched conversation about the best way to preserve the last of the summer herbs.
Roy stayed pressed to Rosa's ear, watching the fire and the people and the way the lantern flickered over the maps on the corkboard. Silas was out there. The walkers were out there, moving in formation along the eastern boundary, herded by a hand none of them could see. That hadn't changed, and it wouldn't change just because they were warm and fed and laughing.
But this mattered too, this quiet hour of ordinary things. This was what they were holding onto.
"Hey." Roy pressed his palm against Rosa's earlobe. "Thank you."
She tilted her head, just enough for him to see her eye. "For what?"
"For this." He gestured vaguely at the room, the fire, the sound of Lee arguing about whether his win had been legitimate. "For making them do this."
"I didn't make anyone do anything. They decided to sit down and play cards on their own."
"You know what I mean."
She was quiet for a moment, and then her chin dipped once, a small acknowledgment. "Yeah," she said. "I know what you mean."
The next hand ended in loud dispute, Lee insisting that Ally had misread the rules and Ally insisting she'd never agreed to Lee's version in the first place. They were still arguing when Sandy set down her cards and stood, stretching her back with a soft groan.
"Another tea?" she asked, reaching for the kettle.
"I'll get it," Rosa said, shifting as if to rise. But Sandy waved her off.
"Stay. You've lost more hands than anyone. You deserve a break." She headed toward the stove, her braided pigtails swinging.
"Hey, I lost too," Jason protested.
"Your losses, they're like... strategic losses. Hers are tragic." Lee's grin was wide as he said it, and the table broke into laughter again.
Rosa laughed too, a real one, something that cracked open her chest and let some of the heaviness out. Roy felt the vibration of it through her collarbone, felt her whole body relax into the couch cushions. She went to shove the cards aside and, in a motion that almost knocked Roy off his perch, she raised her hand to cover a yawn instead.
"All right, alright," Rosa said, when the laughter died down. "Maybe I'm not the card shark I thought I was." She looked at Roy, and there was something gentle in the curve of her mouth, something private and knowing.
"Well, well," Roy said, his voice a low murmur against her ear, "look at you. Blowing the best hand of the night because you're too tired to gloat."
"Shut up," she said, but there was no bite in it.
"I'm serious. That was a straight flush. You could've bankrupted Jayden for the rest of the season."
"I know what I folded." Her fingers tapped the edge of the deck, a rhythm she didn't seem aware of. "It was a good hand. I just didn't care about it."
"You never care about good hands. That's what makes you terrifying at poker."
"I'm not terrifying. I'm observant. There's a difference."
"Mm." Roy settled back against the curve of her ear, his legs dangling over the edge of her earlobe. "You're also a sore loser who's losing on purpose, and that's twice in one night you've let the little people eat."
She snorted, a soft exhale through her nose that only he could feel. "Little people. That's rich coming from you."
"Hey, I'm the smallest person in this room by at least three inches, and I still haven't lost a single hand. Because I have the decency not to play. Or the good sense to fold early."
"You just watched."
"Watching is a strategy. I'm learning everyone's tells. Lee tilts his head when he's holding something good. Joan presses her lips together when she's bluffing. Amie fiddles with the coin in his pocket when he's got a winner." Roy paused. "You tap your fingers when you're pretending to be bored."
Her fingers went still on the deck. "I don't."
"You do. Just did. You're doing it right now."
The stillness stretched between them for a beat, and then Rosa laughed, a short, quiet huff. "You're a menace, you know that."
"Learned from the best."
"Mm. Don't go getting a big head about it. You're still small enough I could lose you in a teacup."
"You'd find me."
"Course I would." She said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Roy felt the warmth of it settle in his chest.
The game kept going below them. Jayden won again, crowing and reaching across to steal a dried apple slice from Amie's pile, who let her have it without complaint. Joan was telling a story about the early days, right after the outbreak, when the campus had been a chaos of panicked students and they'd had to barricade the dorm with desks and mattresses. She told it dryly, deadpan, but the others listened, leaning in, the shared memory warm in the firelight.
"Joan saved my life that first week," Ally said. "I was hiding in a stairwell. Didn't even know her yet. She showed up with a fire extinguisher and clubbed a walker in the head."
"I didn't club him," Joan said. "I sprayed him in the face and ran."
"Same thing."
"Not even close."
The argument devolved into laughter, and Roy felt Rosa's body loosen further, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders inch by inch. She was holding him closer than she needed to now, her chin tilted down so the curve of her jaw brushed against his side, and he let himself lean into her warmth.
"You're good at this," Roy said quietly.
"At losing?"
"At this." He gestured with a sweep of his hand. "Gathering people. Making them feel like they belong somewhere even when the world's gone to hell. That's not nothing, Rosa."
She was quiet for a long moment. Her breath came slow and even, and he felt her swallow against him.
"I don't know about all that," she said finally. "I just thought we could use a day without everything feeling like an emergency."
"And look at you. You made it happen."
"I didn't make it happen. I just set out the cards and everyone showed up."
"That's all it takes sometimes."
The fire crackled. Somewhere below, Lee was attempting to demonstrate a shuffle trick and nearly sent the cards flying, prompting a chorus of protests. Amie rescued the cards with surprising quickness, shuffling them with his long, precise fingers, and someone wolf-whistled, making him flush pink and duck his head.
Roy watched it all from his perch, the orange light warming his face, and he thought, this is it. This is the thing. Not the scavenges or the walls or the careful planning that kept them alive. This messy, ragtag thing. The way Sandy touched Joan's shoulder when she got quiet. The way Ally's hand found Amie's wrist, a grounding touch that made his shoulders ease. The way Jason and Rosa kept shooting each other these looks across the couch, some private language they'd built together.
"Hey," Roy said, "deal me in next round."
Rosa blinked, turning her head so she could see him with one eye. "You want to play?"
"Why not? I'm small but I've got good instincts. And Lee's right, I could cheat. No one'd even see me."
"I'd see you."
"You'd be too busy losing."
"I told you, I'm taking a break from winning." But she was smiling when she said it, and she reached up and lifted him off her collarbone, setting him in the center of the table near the deck. The cards were huge to him, a landscape of worn paper and faded pips, and the table felt like a field stretching in every direction.
"Last round," Rosa announced, settling back into the couch. "Deal me in, and deal the little man a hand too."
"What are the stakes?" Lee asked, already reaching for his drink.
"Loser does dishes tomorrow."
"Deal."
Roy looked at the cards spread before him, a fan of them larger than his whole body, and he felt Rosa's gaze on him, warm and steady. He didn't need to see her cards to know she was going to fold again. He'd learn her tells too, eventually, the way she gave herself away with the smallest things.
And when she did fold, when she tossed her hand down with that small, careless shrug, he'd find her hand and squeeze her finger, and she'd know. This was enough. This was more than enough.
Roy watched Rosa pick up her cards, that careless flutter of her wrist telling him everything he needed to know. She was going to fold again. Her eyes barely skimmed her hand before she set it down, reaching for her mug of dandelion tea.
"Wait," Roy said, pitching his voice to carry over the low murmur of the table. "Before you throw that away, I want to make a bet."
Rosa's eyebrow arched. "You've got nothing to bet with. You're three inches tall."
"I've got intel." Roy planted his hands on his hips, a tiny figure in the middle of the table, the firelight casting his shadow long across the cards. "I've been watching everyone's tells all night. That's worth something."
Jason leaned forward, a slow grin spreading across his face. "He's got a point. He called Lee's bluff three hands ago before anyone else saw it."
"That was luck," Lee said.
"It was pattern recognition," Roy corrected. "You tilt your head when you've got something good. Joan presses her lips together when she's bluffing, but she also taps her foot. And Jayden, when she's holding a winning hand, she sits up straighter, like she's already won. She can't help it."
Jayden's back straightened reflexively, then she slumped, glaring at Roy with a mix of irritation and grudging respect. "That's creepy, little man."
"I'm observant. There's a difference." Roy turned back to Rosa. "So here's my bet: I'll give everyone at this table one piece of intel about their game, free of charge, but only if you play this hand for real. No folding. No throwing it away. You play it like you actually want to win."
The table went quiet. The fire popped. Rosa looked at him with that sharp-edged stare she reserved for when she was weighing a decision, and Roy held his ground, his tiny heart hammering against his ribs.
"That's not much of a bet," she said slowly. "You're giving me the chance to win. You're not getting anything out of it."
"I get to watch you play a hand like you mean it. That's enough."
Something flickered in her eyes. He'd caught her off guard, and she didn't like it, but she wasn't folding either. The others were watching now, their attention settling on the strange little standoff between a three-inch man and the woman who'd been losing all night on purpose.
"You'll tell everyone their tells?" Rosa's voice was low, appraising.
"Every single one. I've got notes." He patted his chest, where a tiny, imaginary pocket might have been. "Extensive notes."
"And what about my tell?"
Roy grinned. "That's the first thing I'll give away, if you win."
"Rosa," Ally said, her tone warm and coaxing, "just play the hand. We all know you're not bad at cards. Lee's been complaining about your poker face for months."
"I haven't seen her play poker since last winter," Lee said, perking up. "She cleaned me out of my entire ration of chocolate. I'd like to forget that."
"Same," Jason agreed. "She took me for two weeks of guard duty."
Rosa looked at her cards, then back at Roy. The firelight danced across her face, softening the hard lines of her jaw. For a long, weighted moment, Roy thought she might fold anyway, just to prove she could, just to keep that careful distance between herself and the game.
But then her fingers tightened on the cards, and something shifted in her posture. She leaned forward, settling into the table, and Roy felt the room's attention sharpen with hers.
"Fine," she said. "One hand. But if I win, you owe me a full report on everyone at this table."
"Deal."
The table rustled as everyone picked up their cards, the energy shifting from lazy comfort to something more lively. Jayden was already sitting straighter; Roy caught it, filed it away. Joan's lips tightened, a tell she was bluffing, and he watched her try to smooth it away. Amie's hand drifted to his pocket, but he stopped himself, settling for adjusting his cards instead.
Rosa played.
Not the way he'd imagined. Not flashy, not aggressive. She played quiet, measured, like a predator waiting in tall grass. She discarded low, kept her face still, and when Jayden made a confident play, Rosa let her take a small pot and gave nothing away. The room went back and forth, hands passing between them, laughter still bubbling up but with a new edge of competition.
Then, mid-game, Rosa drew a card and Roy caught it. A tiny twitch of her eyebrow, barely perceptible, gone before anyone else could have noticed. He'd seen it a hundred times before: she'd drawn something good.
He said nothing. He just watched her play.
She built the hand carefully, methodically. When Lee laid down a run, Rosa tilted her head like she was beat, but her fingers hovered over her own cards with a patience Roy recognized. She was letting the others paint themselves into corners, letting them overreach while she sat on a foundation she'd been laying since the third round.
Jayden went out first with a triumphant cackle. Rosa nodded, resigned, and laid her hand down with a shrug.
"Close," she said.
Roy hopped over to her cards and looked at them.
"Rosa," he said, his voice pitched low but carrying in the sudden hush, "this is four of a kind."
The table erupted.
"You had four of a kind?" Jason demanded, his jaw dropping. "And you let Jayden win?"
"I didn't let her win. She went out first. That's the game."
"With four of a kind on the table, I'd have gone out three turns earlier!" Lee waved his cards in the air, indignant.
"That's your tell," Roy said mildly. "You've got a run and you're holding three of the same number. You get that greedy look around your eyes."
"You can't see my eyes."
Roy patted his own chest again. "I took notes."
Jayden was cackling, flopping back against her armchair with her winnings clutched to her chest while Sandy scolded her for being a sore winner. The room dissolved into friendly chaos, everyone talking over each other about betting and tells and whether Roy was actually picking up on real patterns or just bluffing them all.
Rosa caught Roy's eye. He was still standing beside her laid-out cards, a tiny figure dwarfed by the fours and sevens he'd predicted. She held his gaze for a long moment, and something passed between them, something wordless and quiet.
Then she nodded, just once, and Roy felt the warmth of it settle in his chest.
She'd played for real. She'd lost, but she'd played like she meant it, and that was the whole point, wasn't it? That it didn't have to be about winning to be worth doing. That sometimes the victory was just in showing up, cards in hand, one small hand at a time.
"Poker, then," Rosa announced, setting her cards down with a decisive click. "And not that hillbilly version Lee keeps trying to push. Real poker. Five card draw, nothing fancy."
"Thank God," Jayden said. "I was tired of pretending I understood whatever the hell we were playing."
Rosa rose from the couch, and Roy scrambled to keep his balance as her knee tilted beneath him. "Be right back."
She returned a minute later with a dented tin box, the kind that had once held cookies or sewing supplies, and set it on the low table with a weighty thunk. Inside, nestled in a nest of faded felt, were the remains of an old poker chip set. Most of the chips were cracked or worn smooth, their colors faded to pastels, but there were enough of them, a few dozen at least, to make a proper pile.
"Found these in the basement when we were clearing out the storage rooms," she said, scooping a handful out and letting them clatter across the table. "Figured they'd be useful someday."
Roy patted the felt strip on her sleeve to get her attention as she resettled into the couch, picking up the deck and riffling it with that practiced ease. She tilted her head down to him, a barely perceptible angle.
"Same bet as before," Roy murmured, quiet enough that the others, already arguing over chip distribution, couldn't hear. "But with a twist. You give me a tell."
"What kind of tell?"
"When you're about to play for real. Something small. Something only I'd catch. And I'll duck out and watch from your shoulder so I'm not in the way."
Rosa's eyebrow ticked up. "You want me to telegraph my plays to you."
"Only the ones where you're actually going to play hard. The rest of the time you can bluff your heart out and I'll stay out of it."
"And what do you get out of this?"
"The best seat in the house." He grinned up at her. "Watching you actually try."
She considered this, her fingers stilling on the deck. Then she gave a small, private nod, so quick the others would have missed it. "Fine. But if you tell anyone what you see, I'm feeding you to the chickens."
"Deal."
She dealt the first hand, and Roy hopped down from her knee to the table's edge, then made his way toward her shoulder, using the folds of her flannel sleeve as a climbing route. The others were still settling, distributing chips and arguing about whether the red ones were worth more than the blue ones, and by the time they were ready to play, Roy was perched in the hollow of her collarbone, his legs dangling over the edge of her collar.
"Aces high," Rosa said. "Ante up."
The game began. Roy watched her posture ease into something fluid and relaxed, the way she'd held herself all night, but now there was an undercurrent of focus beneath it. She checked her cards with a lazy flick of her wrist, losing a chip to the pot without seeming to care.
The tell came three hands in. She drew her cards, glanced at them, and then her left thumb tapped once against her knee.
Roy almost missed it. It was so subtle, so easy to write off as a fidget. But he'd been watching for it, and he caught it, and he felt a jolt of excitement as he realized what it meant.
She was holding something good. She was going to play fierce.
He scrambled to the edge of her collar, hooking his fingers over the fabric to watch the game unfold below.
"Raise," Rosa said, pushing a stack of blue chips into the center.
Jayden blinked. "You've folded every hand for the last hour."
"I'm feeling lucky."
"Since when?"
"Since just now." Rosa's face was calm, pleasant, the face of a woman who hadn't won a single hand all night.
Jason, sitting across from her, narrowed his eyes. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?"
"You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The look you get when you're about to take someone's shirt off at poker." He pushed his own chips forward. "Call."
Lee called. Joan called, her lips pressing together, the tell Roy had identified earlier. Sandy folded, waving a dismissive hand. Amie studied his cards, then his pocket, then folded with a small shake of his head.
"Show 'em," Jayden said.
Rosa laid down her cards.
Full house. Jacks over eights.
Jayden stared. Jason stared. Lee's jaw went slack.
"That's... that's the second good hand you've thrown away tonight," Jason said, his voice tight with disbelief.
"Actually, I'm winning this one." Rosa reached for the pot, pulling it toward her with both hands. "That's the thing about losing all night. You stop looking like a threat."
"You were baiting us!" Lee sounded outraged, and maybe a little admiring. "All night. You were baiting us."
"You all told me your tells, one by one." Rosa began stacking her winnings with careful precision. "Roy gave me the intel, I watched the game, and you all played exactly the way he said you would."
"You're using a three-inch man as a spy?" Jayden demanded.
"He's got good eyes." Rosa's voice was warm, teasing, and Roy felt her chin dip toward him, a private acknowledgment. "Tiny men see everything."
The table erupted in protest, but it was good-natured, the outrage of people who'd just been outplayed and knew it. Lee was recounting his losses with theatrical despair. Jayden was demanding a rematch. Even Amie was laughing, his shoulders shaking with a quiet, rusty sound that made Ally squeeze his arm.
"I want my tells back," Lee said, pointing at Roy. "You owe me. I've got a system."
"Your system is tilting your head like a confused golden retriever," Roy said from his perch. "It's not much of a system."
"He's got a point," Joan said.
"Whose side are you on?"
The next hand went to Sandy, who played a quiet, steady game and took the pot with two pair. The hand after that went to Amie, who'd been quietly building a straight while everyone else bickered, and who accepted his chips with a small, pleased smile.
Then Rosa's thumb tapped.
Roy felt it, the tiny vibration through her collarbone, and he braced himself. This time, when she raised, the others were wary. They'd been burned once. They folded, one by one, and Rosa collected the pot with an innocent smile.
"That's not fair," Jayden said. "You're uncatchable now. You know all our tells."
"You know mine too," Rosa said calmly. "You just haven't figured them out yet."
"Roy," Lee said, pointing at him, "you're leaking information. We need a counter-spy."
"Not my problem."
"You're a double agent."
"I'm a freelancer." Roy grinned. "I work for whoever pays me. Currently that's Rosa, because she's got the best seat."
The game went on. The fire crackled. The tea went around again, and someone broke out a tin of the good preserves, the kind they usually saved for special occasions. The chips clattered and the laughter rose and fell, and Roy watched Rosa play hand after hand with the tell ticking away under his fingers.
When she was playing soft, she was pure theater, folding early, shrugging, commiserating with the losers. When that thumb tapped, she was a different player entirely, sharp and patient, building her pots with quiet precision until she struck.
And every time she won, she'd look up at Roy, just a flicker of her gaze, a private acknowledgment that he'd seen her, really seen her, and the warmth of it stayed with him long after she'd looked away.
He found himself thinking about Silas, about the walkers on the boundary, about all the things waiting outside these walls. They were still there. They would still be there tomorrow.
But for now, there was this. The fire, the cards, the weight of Rosa's heartbeat under his palm, and the sound of his people laughing. It was enough. It was more than enough.