CHAPTER 61: THE SPOILS

The casino doors closed behind me with a heavy thud, muffling the laughter, clinking glasses, and music inside.

Out here, the air was cold and damp. The kind of air that slipped under your collar and reminded you the city was more stone and rot than velvet and gold.

My pouch of winnings rested at my hip, coins whispering with each step like they were telling me secrets only I could hear.

I cut through a narrow alley, shadows stretching long against the cracked walls. Rats scattered ahead of me, their tiny claws scratching against stone.

And then a softer sound padded behind me.

I stopped.

From the dark, two yellow eyes blinked open like lanterns.

A low, playful purr rumbled, and then a shape slipped free from the shadows — sleek, black, tail curling with that infuriating air of confidence only cats possess.

"Teach me," Nyx said, his voice a whisper threading straight into my mind.

I groaned. "Not you too."

He padded closer, weaving between my legs, his fur brushing my boots. "I watched you in there. You were flawless, bro. The woman never stood a chance. You have to teach me how you did it."

I raised a brow beneath the mask. "You’re a cat, Nyx."

His tail flicked. "So?"

"So cats don’t gamble."

His eyes narrowed, glowing brighter in the dark. "Says who? If mice can play, I can play. Dice, cards, stones — let me sit at the table, I’ll win them all."

"You’ll end up getting drowned in a bucket before you win anything." I stepped around him, cloak brushing the damp wall. "No."

Nyx trotted ahead and spun to block my path, sitting down squarely in the center of the alley. His ears flicked, and his whiskers twitched with indignation. "You don’t want me to learn because you’re afraid I’ll beat you."

I stared at him. Then I laughed—low, sharp, curling under my breath. "Nyx, if you walked into a casino, the only thing you’d win is a saucer of milk."

He gave me the kind of glare only a cat could manage, half wounded pride, half "I’ll claw your face in your sleep."

"You think I can’t do it," he muttered.

"I know you can’t."

For a moment, there was only silence.

His tail flicked again, agitated.

Then, slyly, he said, "Fine. If you won’t teach me the games... teach me the chip trick. The little spinny thing you did with your fingers."

I stopped walking. Looked down at him. "You don’t even have fingers."

Nyx’s ears perked. "Details don’t matter."

I dragged a hand down my mask. "Spirits save me."

"I’ll practice with my claws! Or with pebbles! Or bones!" He stretched, tail curling like a question mark. "Come on, Loki. Just one lesson. You can’t deny me forever."

I exhaled slowly. "Fine. The chip. Just the chip. Nothing else."

Nyx purred, triumphant, rubbing against my leg as if he’d already won the jackpot.

"But listen carefully," I added, voice low, "if I ever catch you near a gambling table, I’ll make you eat the deck."

He froze, then looked up at me, eyes wide, whiskers twitching. "...That sounds crunchy."

"Exactly."

***

I pushed forward into the night, coins jingling softly at my side.

Behind me, Nyx padded along with tail held high, already plotting, no doubt.

And me?

I was already regretting ever teaching a cat anything.

We slipped deeper into the city’s veins, the narrow alleys curling around us like ribs of some dead beast. My boots scuffed against loose stones; Nyx padded noiselessly beside me, tail flicking in rhythm.

For a while he was quiet, and that was dangerous. Cats didn’t stay quiet unless they were planning something.

Sure enough, his voice slid into my mind again. "So... how much did you win?"

I let the silence stretch, just to irritate him. Then I tapped the pouch at my hip, letting the coins jingle like a bell. "Enough."

Nyx’s ears swiveled. "Enough?"

"Ten times what I walked in with," I said, my tone light, almost bored, as if I were commenting on the weather.

His head snapped toward me, golden eyes round. "Ten times?!" His tail fluffed out like he’d just been struck by lightning. "You made ten times your money in a single night?"

I tilted my head, mask catching a sliver of moonlight. "Of course. That’s why I play."

Nyx bounded ahead of me, leaping onto a low wall. His claws scraped stone as he turned to face me, crouched low like a coiled spring. "That’s robbery! That’s sorcery! That’s—"

"That’s mathematics," I cut in smoothly. "Patience. Timing. Reading the other players until they’re laid out before you like open books."

He hissed, tail lashing. "I want that. I want that now. Ten times! Do you know what I could buy with that? Fish. Mountains of fish. An empire of fish!"

I smirked behind the mask. "Yes, I can see it now. The great Nyx, ruler of the Eastern Fish Market. All shall bow before his kingdom of sardines."

He narrowed his eyes into thin golden slits. "Mock me all you want, but you’ll be sorry when I build my fortress out of tuna cans."

I chuckled under my breath. "If you ever make ten times your money, I’ll personally carry the cans for you."

Nyx blinked, then sat down primly, curling his tail around his paws. "Deal."

I sighed. "It wasn’t an offer. It was sarcasm."

"Too late," he purred. "I already shook on it. With my paw. In my head."

I rubbed my temples. "One of these nights, Nyx, you’re going to be the death of me."

"And one of these nights," he replied smugly, "I’ll be ten times richer than you."

I glanced at him sidelong. "When that happens, I’ll eat the deck myself."

His ears twitched. "...Still sounds crunchy."

***

As the night came to an end, some gamblers had started whispering about a man in red.

They called him the Jester.

No one knew the name, but in the back corners of card houses and taverns, it slipped into the talk.

He was said to smile too easily. To win too often. Some claimed he’d walked out of the silk queen’s table with her coin and her pride both broken. Others just said he played differently, like he already knew how the hand would end.

The stories didn’t always match.

A dealer swore he’d seen him flip chips without looking. A drunk swore the man never lost. Most didn’t care. But they remembered the red sleeve, the calm grin, and the way the table always seemed to tilt his way.

It wasn’t a legend. Not yet.

Just a name traded low, between the greedy and the desperate.

The Jester.