The first round went to Damon.
He flipped the King card with the lazy confidence of a man who had never lost anything that mattered. His command was mild. Predictable. He pointed at Carter Mills and said, "Finish your drink and tell us the worst investment you made last quarter."
Carter groaned, downed his scotch, and launched into a story about a tech startup in Singapore that had everyone laughing. Safe. Civilized. The kind of forfeit that would be forgotten before we landed.
I watched Lena's face. She was smiling, but her eyes tracked Damon's hand as he set the King down. She was counting something. Measuring.
The second round went to Damon again.
This time he ordered one of the other guests—a blonde venture capitalist named Simone—to swap shoes with the person on her left. More laughter. Someone took a photo. The cabin felt warm, buoyant, like we were all in on the same joke.
We weren't.
I drew a seven in the second round. Safe. I folded my hands in my lap and waited.
Carter won the third draw. He pointed at a hedge fund manager across the aisle and said, "Sing the chorus of whatever song is stuck in your head." The man did. Badly. The cabin erupted. Someone refilled the champagne.
I looked out the window. Below us, the Atlantic was invisible. Just black. No horizon. No reference point. We could have been falling and I wouldn't have known.
Between rounds, I saw it.
Lena leaned toward Damon, her shoulder brushing his. She lifted her glass to her lips but didn't drink. Behind the crystal rim, her mouth moved. Three words. Maybe four. I couldn't hear them. Damon's eyes flicked down to the deck on the table, then back to her face. The corner of his mouth lifted.
Not a smile. An acknowledgment.
My hand moved before I thought about it. I reached into my clutch, drew out my phone, and set it face-down on the seat cushion beside my thigh. One tap. The recording app I used for board meetings, for investor calls, for any conversation I might need to remember exactly as it happened.
I had started recording things six months ago. Little moments. Lena's voice dropping when she thought I wasn't listening. Damon's tone when he said my name versus when he said hers. I told myself I was being paranoid. I told myself I was building a case I would never need.
I pressed record.
The cabin noise would cover it. The music. The laughter. No one was looking at me. No one ever looked at me unless I made them.
I folded my hands over the phone and waited.
Carter shuffled the deck for the next round. His hands were quick, but not quick enough. I saw Lena's eyes track the cards as he fanned them. I saw her glance at Damon. I saw him nod, so slightly it could have been nothing.
It wasn't nothing.
"Alright, darlings," Carter announced, grinning. "Round four. High stakes. Let's make this interesting."
He dealt.
I drew my card slowly. Turned it face-up on my knee where only I could see it.
A three of spades.
The lowest card in the deck.
Around the table, the others revealed theirs one by one. Damon had a nine. Carter had a jack. Simone had a six. The others fell somewhere in between.
Then Lena turned hers over.
King of hearts.
She gasped. A sharp, delighted inhale that made everyone look. She pressed one hand to her chest, her eyes wide, her mouth open in a perfect circle of surprise that would have been convincing if I hadn't seen her smile before she flipped the card.
"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, this is *perfect*."
She stood. Slowly. Her red silk skirt shifted as she rose, and the light caught the sheen of it, and everyone in the cabin was looking at her now. She had that gift. The ability to gather a room's attention without asking for it.
She turned in a slow circle, surveying us one by one. Her gaze passed over Carter, over Simone, over the others. It lingered on Damon for half a beat. Then it landed on me.
She smiled.
"Sera," she said softly. "Show us your card, darling."
I held it up. Three of spades.
The cabin went quiet. Not silent. But the laughter thinned. Someone set down a glass. I heard the clink.
Lena's smile widened.
"Well," she said. She tapped one finger against her lips, tilted her head, and looked at me the way you look at a thing you are about to rearrange. "I've been thinking about this all night."
She glanced at Damon. He was watching her. Not me. Her.
She looked back at me.
"I want you," she said, her voice bright and clear, "to kneel down and lick the bottom of Carter's shoe."
The cabin stopped breathing.
I looked at her. I looked at Damon.
He said nothing.
His face was still. His glass was halfway to his mouth. He did not lower it. He did not speak. He did not move.
He said nothing.
I stood up.
