Silas Crane opened his mouth to speak. When he did, only moths flew out.

“No,” Valentin whispered. “It’s the house’s. The real house. The game you’ve been playing isn’t for coin, Silas. It’s for what’s left of your soul.”

“Fold,” Valentin said.

Silas saw it. His face went white. “That’s not yours.”

Valentin looked at his own cards. He wasn’t playing the hand. He was playing the crack.

Crack.

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