Anthony leaned back in his chair, the mountain of chips still sitting in front of him, untouched. His grin hadn’t faded, but his eyes had sharpened. He studied Number Nine the way a predator studies another predator—curious, amused, but ready to bite.

Nine wasn’t in a rush. He sat there, relaxed, like he had all the time in the world. The weight of his presence pressed down on the room, subtle but undeniable. The other players had already started making themselves scarce. They knew when real power entered the conversation.

Anthony tapped a finger against the felt table. "So?"

Nine smirked. "So?"

"You’re sitting across from me like you own the place." Anthony’s voice was light, playful, but his gaze was locked on Nine’s. "Which means either you do… or you think you do."

Nine chuckled, shaking his head. "Molly called me."

Anthony clicked his tongue. "Of course she did."

"You made an impression," Nine said. "That’s rare."

Anthony’s grin widened. "You gonna offer me a job?"

Nine leaned forward slightly. "I don’t offer anything. I take."

Anthony’s eyes gleamed. "Then take me."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Silence.

Nine tilted his head, amused. "You don’t even know what you’re signing up for."

Anthony shrugged, spreading his arms. "I don’t care. I’m bored. You’re interesting. That’s enough."

Nine watched him for a long moment.

This kid wasn’t like Anderson. Anderson was controlled, disciplined, cold—but Anthony? Anthony was fire waiting to spread. Unstable. Dangerous. But maybe that wasn’t a weakness. Maybe that was exactly what Nine needed.

"You like games, huh?" Nine said.

Anthony nodded. "It’s the only thing that makes life worth it."

Nine exhaled through his nose, then leaned back in his chair. "Alright, then. Let’s play a game."

Anthony sat up straighter, intrigued. "What kind?"

Nine reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a single bullet. He set it on the table between them.

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Russian roulette? Bit cliché, don’t you think?"

Nine smirked. "No. Too predictable." He gestured toward the bullet. "Tell me—how much is this worth?"

Anthony looked at it. A simple .45 round. Nothing special.

"Market price?" Anthony mused. "Maybe a buck or two. But in the right hands… it’s priceless."

Nine’s smirk widened. "Go on."

Anthony picked up the bullet, rolling it between his fingers. "Depends on where it lands. If I put this in the head of a man who owes a hundred million in debt, it’s worth a hundred million. If I use it to take out a politician? Could shift the entire future of a country. This isn’t just a bullet. It’s power."

Nine liked that answer.

He nodded, slow and approving. "Good. You understand value."

Anthony flicked the bullet into the air and caught it. "I understand a lot of things."

Nine watched him for another moment, then stood up.

"Let’s go."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

Nine smirked. "You wanted excitement, right? Time to see if you can handle it."

Anthony grinned, pushing back his chair and grabbing his jacket. "Now we’re talking."

He didn’t know where they were going.

Didn’t care.

Because whatever it was, it was finally going to be fun.