Why you?

The question echoed through Elias’ mind, circling like a hawk above prey. The velvet box sat on the kitchen counter, perfectly still yet impossibly loud in its silence. It seemed to hum with a presence that pressed against the edges of the room, daring him to confront it. He rubbed his temples, pacing around the coffee table in tight, anxious circles. This has to be a joke, he thought. A cruel, elaborate prank. A limitless card? A promise of… what, power? Wealth? Freedom? And no one could find out? It was ridiculous. Impossible.

Yet no one in his life would bother. He wasn’t close enough with anyone for a prank like this. There was no one to waste that kind of effort on him—not here, not back home.

Elias stopped pacing and stared at the box from across the room, keeping his distance like it might lunge at him. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe it was just a fancy box with some pretentious stationery inside, something accidentally delivered to the wrong address. But the air in the apartment felt thicker now, heavier, as if it was waiting for him to act.

He sighed, the sound brittle and tired, and glanced at the photo of Bela on the coffee table. She was perched on his lap, her white fur shining in the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window of his childhood home. His younger self grinned in the photo, unburdened by overdue rent and credit card debt. That version of him felt like a stranger now.

His gaze shifted to the stack of overdue notices piled next to the photo. Red warnings screamed across each envelope—FINAL NOTICE, URGENT RESPONSE REQUIRED. Each one was a reminder of how far he’d fallen. His eyes darted back to the box. It was a tug-of-war in his mind now: the cold, familiar weight of desperation pulling against the surreal lure of the unknown.

He felt it again—like something watching him, its gaze steady and unrelenting. The feeling sent a chill up his spine. He scanned the room, but the emptiness stared back, mocking him. Get a grip, he thought, shaking his head. You’re losing it.

With a steadying breath, he moved to the counter and opened the box again. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled out the note, the thick cream paper cool against his skin.

“Yeah, whatever. Nobody needs to know this card exists,” he muttered, his voice cracking in a desperate attempt at humor. His chuckle died as quickly as it came. He reached for a pen and scrawled his name on the dotted line. The ink barely dried before he felt it—a shift in the air, subtle at first but undeniable. The sensation was like stepping into a cathedral and realizing you weren’t alone. The apartment felt smaller, the shadows longer, as if the walls themselves leaned in to watch.

Elias froze, glancing around. His heart hammered against his ribs, a primal panic bubbling beneath the surface. His breath came in shallow bursts as his gaze fell back to the paper. The words were gone. The contract and its rules had vanished, replaced by a single question, written in the same shimmering gold as before:

What will your legacy be?

“What the fuck is this?” Elias’s voice rose, his panic spilling out. He flung the paper onto the counter, but it fluttered unnaturally, landing neatly back inside the box. His chest tightened, fear clawing at his throat. The room felt wrong now, as if the act of signing had shifted something fundamental, as though he’d invited something into his space—something that had always been just outside, waiting for him to open the door.

Elias stepped back, his foot catching the corner of the coffee table. He hissed in pain but didn’t take his eyes off the box. He couldn’t. The silence in the room was oppressive, the kind that made his pulse thunder in his ears. His breathing slowed as his gaze was drawn back to the box, to the strange shimmer of its velvet surface.

With shaking hands, he reached in again, brushing aside the paper. Beneath it, a hidden compartment clicked open with a sound so quiet it felt more sensed than heard. His breath caught in his throat. There it was.

A card.

It was sleek, black, and metallic, its surface impossibly smooth yet glinting faintly in the dim light. Gold lines etched across the front in intricate patterns that seemed to shift subtly, almost like veins pulsing with life. His initials—E.M.—were emblazoned on the front, clean and bold. The back bore a magnetic strip, embossed numbers, and an elegance that made it feel simultaneously ancient and futuristic.

“This wasn’t here before,” Elias whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. His fingers traced the edges of the card, the cool metal sending a shiver up his arm. The weight of it felt wrong, heavier than it should have been, as though it carried something more than its material.

The thought gripped him like a vice: What the hell is this thing?

The room felt alive now, charged with an energy that was both intoxicating and suffocating. The walls seemed closer, the light harsher. Elias stared at the card, his mind spinning. The card stared back, silent but commanding, as if daring him to understand.

Somewhere in the depths of his thoughts, a quiet, insidious voice whispered:

Take it. Use it. See what happens.

Elias’ hands trembled as he reached for the card. It seemed to pull at him, like invisible threads tethered to something deep in his chest, something primal and inexplicable. He hesitated, his fingertips brushing the metallic surface, cold and smooth. A faint hum—or was it just his imagination?—seemed to radiate from it, a vibration he felt in his bones more than heard. The card rested there, deceptively simple yet impossibly heavy with the weight of possibility.

He glanced over his shoulder, his heart pounding. The shadows of his small apartment seemed to shift imperceptibly, like they were leaning closer, watching. He was alone—of course, he was alone—but the feeling of being observed wouldn’t leave him. His breaths came shallow, uneven, as he clutched the card in his hand.

“This is some fuckass joke,” he muttered, his voice tinged with nervous laughter. But the words lacked conviction. Somewhere deep inside him, a sliver of hope flickered, fragile and desperate. What if it’s real?

He turned the card over in his hand, letting the dim light catch its surface. It was sleek, perfect, its gold detailing glinting faintly. His initials, E.M., gleamed back at him, a reminder that it wasn’t just an object—it was his. Somehow, impossibly, it had always been his.

A voice—his own, but quieter, darker—whispered at the back of his mind. Try it. Something simple. Just to see.

He grabbed his phone, the screen lighting up the room with a bluish glow. His fingers hovered over the delivery app. It was the only one he had installed, and at this hour, only one restaurant was still open.

His stomach growled, the pang cutting through his hesitation. “Something to eat,” he murmured, as if speaking aloud would make the act less surreal.

He tapped on a meal: a sandwich, fries, and a Coke. Twenty bucks with fees—enough to make him hesitate if this were any other night. But tonight was different. Tonight, he had the card.

Elias entered the details into the payment field, his heart racing with every keystroke. The expiration date. The CVV. The long string of numbers embossed on the back. It felt absurd, like he was playing along with some cruel fantasy. He tapped Submit and stared at the screen, his breath held so tightly it felt like he might suffocate.

The screen blinked, and a small circle appeared. Processing.

He waited, every second stretching unbearably long. His pulse thudded in his ears. What are you doing, Elias? The voice in his head wasn’t mocking anymore—it was scared. He ignored it.

Then, the circle disappeared. A green checkmark lit up the screen, accompanied by a confirmation:

Thank you for your order. Your meal will arrive shortly.

His address. His estimated delivery time. All there, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

Elias stared at the phone, his jaw slack. It worked. The card worked. He was going to eat.

For a moment, he sat there in stunned silence, the weight of what just happened pressing down on him. His mind reeled, searching for explanations, for something to ground him in reality. But there was no denying it. The impossible had just become real.

He glanced at the card again, still clutched in his hand. It gleamed faintly, as if it knew something he didn’t. As if it were waiting for him to ask the next question.

A small, cautious grin crept onto his face. He was going to eat.

Elias sat down heavily, the card gripped so tightly in his hand it felt like it might fuse to his skin. His mind raced in frantic loops, a blur of disbelief and wild possibilities. So it’s real, he thought, staring at the glowing confirmation on his phone screen. But his excitement was tempered by doubt. Twenty dollars wasn’t proof of anything. Of course, the card could have a small balance—enough to tempt someone into believing in something bigger. A harmless prank. Right?

His eyes drifted to the pile of unpaid bills on the table, their red lettering stark against the pale paper. Final notices. Late fees. Threats of disconnection. His stomach twisted. Even if the card worked, it wouldn’t erase the mess he’d made of his life. This was probably some ridiculous scam, a cruel joke at the expense of his desperation. Still, his hands clutched the card like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.

But what if it isn’t a joke? The thought struck him like a lightning bolt, burning through his doubt. If it wasn’t, then maybe… maybe he could try something bigger.

His phone was still in his hand before he fully realized what he was doing, his fingers moving on their own. He opened his browser, heart pounding as a strange, feverish energy surged through him. Something bigger. Something real. The first thing that came to mind wasn’t practical—it wasn’t a utility bill or rent. It was a want, something he’d never allowed himself to indulge in.

The newest Pear Pyrus phone.

The sleek, minimalist website loaded instantly, its clean lines and bright images enticing him further. The phone gleamed on the screen, impossibly perfect, a technological dream that was forever out of reach for someone like him. But the Buy Now button sat below the image, glowing faintly, daring him to press it.

He did.

His pulse quickened as he selected the model—of course, he went for the best. The largest storage. The newest features. A price tag of $1,400 glared back at him, almost taunting in its extravagance. His finger hovered over the screen for a second, a tiny whisper of hesitation curling around his thoughts.

This is ridiculous. You’re going to look like an idiot when this doesn’t work.

But his hand moved anyway, as if the card itself was guiding him. He filled out the payment details, his name, his email—every field completed with a strange sense of inevitability. His finger hovered over the Proceed button for half a second longer, his heart hammering in his chest.

Click.

The screen flashed. Processing. A familiar spinning circle appeared, then vanished, replaced by a bright confirmation screen.

Thank you for purchasing. Your order is #456918.

“What?!” The word burst out of him, half shout, half laugh, as he shot out of his seat. His chest felt tight, his breath coming fast as the screen scrolled down on its own, revealing more information.

You can pick up your device tomorrow at 12:00.

He laughed again, the sound ragged and almost manic as he clutched his phone, pacing the room in wild disbelief. His eyes darted back to the card in his hand, its surface catching the light, shimmering faintly. It wasn’t just real—it worked. It fucking worked.

He couldn’t stop smiling, a grin splitting his face as he ran a hand through his hair, his mind spinning with possibilities. This wasn’t just a phone. It wasn’t just twenty bucks. This was freedom. This was power.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Elias felt alive.

Elias giggled, the sound high and almost delirious as he stared at the card in his trembling hand. It wasn’t just its physical weight—it was the sheer, overwhelming sense of power it radiated. The longer he held it, the more the possibilities bloomed in his mind, wild and unrelenting. His grin stretched wider with every passing thought. Could he pay rent with it? Clear his debts? Test the limits of this strange, miraculous thing

His phone was already in his other hand before the thought finished forming. Fingers moving with feverish energy, he opened his banking app and scanned through the stack of unpaid bills. Electricity. Internet. Credit card minimums. Rent. One by one, he entered the card’s details, half-expecting the screen to flash with rejection at any second.

Instead, the payments went through.

Each confirmation made his pulse quicken, his breath hitching in his throat. He felt the tension in his shoulders begin to unravel as the impossible became reality. The debt that had been suffocating him, dragging him under day after day, was gone. The notifications disappeared from his screen, replaced by glowing green checkmarks. He was free. For the first time in years, he was free—at least for now.

He let out a breathless laugh, his grin splitting his face like it might never stop. But then a new thought hit him, sharp and thrilling. How far can this go?

Before he could spiral deeper into possibilities, the harsh ding of his intercom shattered the quiet. The sound jolted through his small apartment, and Elias rushed to pick up the receiver, his fingers fumbling slightly as he pressed the button.

“Second floor,” he said, unlocking the front door with a loud click. Without thinking, he unlocked his own door as well, leaving it ajar. His heart raced with anticipation as he stood in the narrow hallway, listening to the faint echo of footsteps climbing the building’s creaky stairs.

The delivery driver appeared a moment later, emerging from the dim stairwell like a ghostly echo of Elias himself. He was young—barely out of high school, maybe in college—and his slight frame looked almost comically burdened by the oversized black delivery bag slung across his back. For a second, Elias froze. The kid’s tired posture, the way he dragged his feet, the faint slump of defeat in his shoulders—it was like staring into a mirror of his past. The thought burned, sharp and unrelenting.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Here’s your delivery. Thanks. Have a nice meal,” the driver mumbled, his voice muffled by the helmet that obscured most of his face. His words were mechanical, exhausted, like someone who had said them a thousand times too many.

“Hey, wait,” Elias said quickly, snapping out of his daze. The delivery man stopped, shifting his weight impatiently. “How much should the tip be?”

The driver tilted his head slightly, clearly caught off guard. Then, with a dry chuckle, he shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Forty-five grand?”

It was a joke, clearly, a throwaway line meant to brush Elias off. But Elias didn’t hesitate. “Okay, got it,” he said, pulling out his phone and opening the tipping screen. He typed in the amount, his fingers moving with electric confidence, but an error message flashed across the screen.

“Damn,” Elias muttered, half to himself. “It says I can’t tip that much.”

The driver snorted, his exhaustion morphing into mild irritation. “Yeah, no shit. Cruel joke, dude.” He turned to leave, but Elias stopped him again.

“Do you have VibePay?” Elias asked, his tone almost casual, as if the question were perfectly reasonable.

The driver blinked, his confusion palpable. “Uh… yeah?” He pulled out his phone, hesitating for a second before showing the QR code for his profile.

Elias didn’t hesitate. He scanned the code, his camera focusing instantly, and deposited $40,000 into the driver’s account with a few quick taps. The confirmation flashed on his screen, but the driver hadn’t noticed yet, too busy adjusting the strap of his bag.

“Thanks for the late-night delivery,” Elias said, a grin tugging at his lips as he waved and stepped back into his apartment.

“W—” The driver’s voice faltered mid-syllable as his phone buzzed in his hand. He froze, staring at the notification that had just appeared on his screen. For a moment, there was silence. Then, a loud, disbelieving laugh burst out of him, echoing through the stairwell.

“Holy shit! HOLY SHIT!” The sound of his excitement carried down the hall, growing fainter as he bolted down the stairs. Elias leaned against his doorframe, listening as the driver’s footsteps pounded down the street, his voice ringing out into the night: “I’m rich! I’m fucking rich!”

Elias smiled to himself as he closed the door, his chest swelling with a mix of satisfaction and disbelief. The card had power—real, undeniable power. And for the first time in his life, he had something. The thrill of it coursed through him like a drug, intoxicating and dangerous.

But deep in the back of his mind, a quiet, nagging voice whispered: What’s the cost?

Elias slammed the door shut and turned the lock, the metallic click reverberating through the small apartment. His chest heaved as he leaned against the frame, gripping the card so tightly it pressed into his palm. It was real. He didn’t need to pinch himself or test it again to confirm what he already knew: the card wasn’t just powerful—it was unthinkable. A tool capable of bending the rules of reality in ways he couldn’t yet fathom.

And with power came danger.

His mind raced as he stumbled back to the sofa-bed, his thoughts a chaotic blur. If this is real, what’s next? Offshore accounts. Swiss banks. He needed to hide the transactions, shield himself. The card might not have limits, but his world did. Taxes, audits, questions he couldn’t answer—all threats that could shatter the fragile balance of this new reality.

But his stomach growled, grounding him in the now. The scent of the sandwich drifted from the bag on the table, cutting through his spiraling thoughts. His body acted before his mind could catch up, unwrapping the meal and taking a bite. Hunger gnawed at him, its sharpness overwhelming his paranoia for a fleeting moment. His mother’s voice echoed in his head, calm and practical: Morning is smarter than the evening.

He sighed and reached for the remote, flicking on the TV. The screen crackled to life with a burst of static before the familiar blue-gray glow filled the room, bathing it in faint, flickering light. The streaming menu lagged for a second before defaulting to a late-night business talk show—hardly what he wanted, but better than silence.

Elias slouched deeper into the cushions, chewing absently as the host’s voice filled the air.

“Breaking news,” the man said, his polished enthusiasm cutting through the static haze of Elias’ mind. “Tech giant Axion unveils its latest achievement: the Aegis-X, an autonomous drone unlike anything the world has seen before.”

The screen flashed to an image of Alexander Vale, the CEO of Axion, his sharp suit pristine under studio lights. He stood beside the drone, his expression radiating confidence and control. The machine itself was sleek, black, and imposing—a futuristic weapon straight out of a dystopian nightmare.

Elias frowned, his chewing slowing as he watched.

“The Aegis-X,” the host continued, “features cutting-edge AI capable of operating entirely without human input. Its advanced threat-detection systems can distinguish between civilians, hostiles, and neutral parties with unparalleled precision. Axion boasts that this innovation will revolutionize both warfare and domestic security, reducing human error and increasing efficiency.”

On the screen, footage played of the drone in action. It moved with eerie grace, its rotors whisper-quiet as it scanned an urban environment, highlighting targets with pinpoint accuracy. A civilian silhouette turned green; a hostile target flashed red. In the blink of an eye, the drone executed its directive with surgical precision.

Elias set the sandwich down, his appetite fading. A cold unease slithered through his gut, the surrealism of the broadcast cutting through his earlier exhilaration. The host’s voice droned on, waxing poetic about innovation and progress, but all Elias could hear was the undertone of power—unchecked, merciless, and clinical.

The camera cut back to Alexander Vale. His smile was razor-sharp, his posture commanding. The man exuded certainty, the kind that Elias had never felt in his own skin. It wasn’t just confidence—it was dominance, the kind of control that came from knowing the world bent to your will.

Elias’ fingers brushed the card on the table beside him. He glanced down at it, its dark surface reflecting the dim light from the TV. The same hum he’d felt earlier returned, faint but insistent, thrumming at the edges of his awareness. For a moment, the card seemed to pulse, as if it were alive, as if it too were watching Alexander on the screen.

He felt small, insignificant, a nameless face in a sea of people too overwhelmed by survival to dream of anything else. Yet, now, with this card, he held something greater—something that could rival even Alexander Vale’s empire.

The thought sent a chill down his spine. Power like this came with a cost. That much he knew instinctively. The question was, could he stomach paying it?

On-screen, Alexander’s image lingered for a beat too long, his gaze uncomfortably piercing, as though he could see through the glass, through the screen, directly into Elias’ apartment. Elias looked away, but the card remained in his peripheral vision, its quiet pull growing stronger.

The host’s voice droned on, smooth and polished, every word a perfectly calibrated pitch. Elias barely listened, the cadence more like white noise than information. Something about the Aegis-X drones being deployed by Christmas. Governments lining up to buy their share. Progress, innovation, efficiency. It all blended together, a relentless stream of optimism masking something far more sinister.

He chewed his fries absently, washing them down with a lukewarm sip of Coke, the fizz crackling faintly in the back of his throat. His mind felt distant, untethered, drifting somewhere far from the glowing screen in front of him. The host transitioned smoothly to another story, the words finally cutting through the haze.

“The first high-speed railway has begun construction in Zagreb, Croatia,” the host announced, “connecting the capital to Ljubljana, Slovenia, and extending further into Europe. Officials say the project—”

But Elias had already stopped listening. The word Zagreb echoed in his mind, sharp and crystalline, dragging him back to the rocky shores of his childhood. He could almost smell the salt air, feel the coarse sand between his fingers. The waves lapped at his memory, cold and rhythmic, carrying with them the distant cries of gulls and the voices of a world he’d left behind.

For a moment, he felt weightless. The city, the card, the debts—all of it seemed to shrink, drowned out by the pull of home. It would be so easy to go back, even just for a weekend. There was nothing keeping him here. No job to return to on Monday. Nothing tying him down.

The last fry disappeared, the Coke drained to its dregs. The remnants of his late-night feast sat forgotten on the coffee table as he grabbed his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen, then moved almost on instinct. The JetSet app opened, its sleek design radiating a cool blue light. A simple question awaited him: Where do you want to go?

“Vis,” he murmured, typing the name of the island into the search bar. The app processed for a moment, then populated a list of options. The flights were ranked—most expensive, longest duration, and then the app’s algorithmically chosen recommended option. His eyes landed on a Saturday afternoon departure: JFK to Paris to Split. Twelve hours with layovers. The return flight was set for Monday.

Elias clicked the itinerary without hesitation. The screen transitioned to pricing tiers, the options almost taunting in their simplicity. The cheapest barely included a carry-on. The most expensive was absurd, promising luxury menus, caviar, and reclining seats in first class. He hesitated, a flicker of practicality tugging at him before the weight of the card in his pocket erased it.

“Sure, why not,” he muttered. The price—$8,670.34—lit up in bold letters in the corner, an Add to Cart button glowing beneath it. He pressed it, entered the card details, and watched the transaction unfold.

A green checkmark filled the screen, followed by the words:

Thank you for choosing JetSet. Your flight information has been sent to your email.

Elias stared at the confirmation, his pulse slowing. Relief, anticipation, and something heavier—something unnameable—settled over him. He was going home. Just for a little while. He wasn’t sure if it was happiness or exhaustion that made his limbs feel so heavy, but he flopped onto the couch, his body sinking into the cushions.

The card pressed against his leg, a faint and persistent reminder of everything that had just transpired. He closed his eyes, half-convinced he would wake to find it gone, this entire night some elaborate, cruel dream.

The hum of the TV blurred into silence as sleep overtook him, the quiet punctuated only by the faint whisper of his own thoughts: What happens when I wake up?

Elias felt his mind slipping into the weightless drift of sleep, but just as he surrendered to the darkness, something jolted him awake—or perhaps pulled him deeper. The sensation was strange, like falling upward into a place that defied the rules of reality. He blinked, expecting to see the familiar confines of his apartment, but the world around him was unrecognizable.

He was standing in a void, a darkness so profound it felt alive, pressing against his skin like a sentient presence. The air—or whatever passed for it—buzzed faintly, resonating with a low hum that seemed to emanate from nowhere and everywhere at once. Then, from the abyss, massive bookshelves began to materialize, their towering forms stretching into infinity. Their surfaces were impossibly detailed, carved with shifting symbols and patterns that seemed to rewrite themselves as he looked at them.

Elias moved forward, though he couldn’t say why. There was no ground beneath his feet, no discernible destination, yet he was drawn deeper into the labyrinth of shadows and towering shelves. Each step felt both heavy and weightless, as though the void itself was deciding how far to let him go.

He turned a corner—or what felt like one—and froze. Before him, standing in the inky darkness, was something. A being. A figure. It was cloaked in shadows that shifted and flowed like liquid, its form flickering between solidity and abstraction. The hood of its cloak concealed its face, but its hand—skeletal and impossibly ancient—extended toward him, beckoning him closer.

Elias couldn’t move. Fear gripped him, cold and unrelenting, as the figure spoke.

“Awaken, seeker. My offering has found you, and with it, the echoes of choice stir.”

The voice bypassed sound entirely, resonating directly within Elias’ chest. It was layered, harmonizing with itself in tones both ancient and childlike. Each word carried an impossible weight, like the echo of countless lifetimes compressed into a single breath. It wasn’t a voice that demanded to be heard—it was a voice that couldn’t be ignored.

Elias took a shaky step forward, his knees trembling. “Wh-who…” The words caught in his throat. He licked his lips and tried again. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“You stand between worlds, neither here nor there,” the being intoned. “This is my domain, child—welcome to the cradle of all that is unseen.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Elias stammered, his voice breaking as he glanced around the void. The shifting shadows, the endless shelves—it all pressed in on him, too vast and too close at the same time.

“What you perceive as sense or chaos holds no weight in my realm,” the being replied. “Names are but threads; you may call me The Benefactor.”

The word struck Elias like a physical blow, and his breath caught. “The Benefactor?” he whispered, his voice trembling. His gaze flicked to the skeletal hand, to the way shadows seemed to melt from the figure like liquid. “You… you gave me the card?”

“I have bestowed upon you the power to wield wealth,” the Benefactor said. “A key to doors both open and sealed. Much lies ahead—lessons to grasp, creations to shape. Tell me, child, what force will you choose to become?”

The figure raised its hand in a slow, deliberate motion, and as it moved, the darkness around them seemed to ripple. The hum intensified, vibrating through Elias’ very being. He wanted to speak, to demand answers, but the weight of the Benefactor’s presence stole the words from his tongue.

With a sudden motion, the being waved its hand, and the void collapsed inward.

Elias woke with a start, his chest heaving as though he’d been dragged from the depths of a nightmare. His heart raced, every beat thundering in his ears. Sweat clung to his skin, his shirt damp and sticking to his back. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was, the shadows of the void still clinging to his vision.

Then the dim outlines of his apartment came into focus. The TV had turned off automatically, leaving the room steeped in a heavy silence. He sat up, his breath uneven, and rubbed his face with shaking hands.

The coffee table caught his eye, and his stomach dropped. The card was still there, its dark surface catching the faint light from the streetlamp outside.

“It’s fucking real,” he whispered, the words barely audible over his ragged breathing. He stared at the card, his thoughts racing back to the void, to the figure, to the voice that still echoed faintly in his mind.

“What the actual fuck did I get myself into?” he muttered, his voice trembling. The card sat silently, its presence oppressive, as though it were waiting for him to make the next move.