It didn't start loud.
Rustline never did.
The trouble began as a thinning—of noise, of movement, of patience. Like the town had leaned forward without meaning to, trying to hear something that hadn't happened yet.
Cole felt it before he saw it.
That familiar pressure behind the eyes. Not the House leaning close.
Something else pushing sideways through the rules.
Dusty stopped walking.
Just… stopped.
Cole followed his gaze.
The square ahead had filled.
Not crowded.
Occupied.
People stood in loose rings around a single table set too clean for the rest of Rustline. Fresh wood. Reinforced legs. A surface that reflected light instead of swallowing it.
That was new.
Cole moved closer, slow, keeping to the edge where he could leave if he needed to.
Dusty stayed glued to his knee.
At the table sat a man Cole hadn't seen before.
But the town had.
You could tell by the way nobody spoke his name.
Tall. Lean. Hair pulled back tight. Coat stitched with deep red thread—not faded, not ceremonial. Active.
Royal-adjacent.
A lieutenant.
Across from him sat a local woman Cole recognized from the Nothing Table the day before. Younger. Sharper now. Eyes flat with a kind of courage that came from having already lost something important.
No Dealer stood between them.
That was the first wrong thing.
The second was the way the air bent around the lieutenant—not pressing, not yielding.
Insulated.
The House was compensating for him.
Cole felt the Ace go heavy again.
The lieutenant smiled as the woman set her chips down.
They weren't casino chips.
They were scraps.
Tokens.
Promises.
Things that used to matter.
"You sure," the lieutenant asked her, voice smooth as polished bone. "This table doesn't forgive mistakes."
The woman nodded.
"Neither does Rustline," she said.
A murmur passed through the crowd.
The lieutenant chuckled and dealt.
Five cards.
No flourish.
He glanced at his hand and smiled wider.
That bothered Cole.
The woman studied hers longer.
She didn't rush.
That bothered the lieutenant.
The House text appeared—brief, clinical.
WAGER REGISTEREDSTAKE: FOCUS / LUCKAUTHORIZATION: ROYAL VARIANCE — LIMITED
Limited.
That word meant the leash was shorter than he thought.
The woman laid her cards down first.
A flush.
Low.
Clean.
Good enough to win most days.
The crowd inhaled.
The lieutenant laughed.
"Bold," he said.
He spread his hand.
Four of a kind.
Kings.
The red stitching along the card edges pulsed bright—too bright.
Royal-touched.
A ripple of unease moved through the square.
Cole felt something… wrong.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Misalignment.
The House hesitated.
Just long enough to be noticed.
Then—
ERROR: VARIANCE EXCEEDEDCORRECTION REQUIRED
The lieutenant frowned.
Just a flicker.
"What's this," he said.
The cards in front of him went dull.
The red stitching dimmed.
The House spoke again.
Not louder.
Sharper.
ROYAL ALLOWANCE REVOKEDSOURCE: OVERPLAY
Silence slammed down.
The woman blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The lieutenant's smile cracked.
"That's not—" he started.
The table bucked.
Not physically.
Conceptually.
The Kings on his side warped, edges curling inward like paper near flame.
The House finished the count.
LOSS RECORDEDCOST APPLIED: LUCK (MAJOR)
The lieutenant staggered.
Not back.
Sideways.
Like the ground had stopped agreeing with him.
He grabbed the table edge and missed.
Fell hard.
The crowd didn't move.
Didn't help.
Didn't flee.
They watched.
Because this mattered.
The woman stood slowly.
Her flush lay untouched.
She hadn't won.
The House had corrected.
The lieutenant tried to rise.
Failed.
His breath came shallow now. Too fast.
He looked up at the crowd, eyes wild.
Then—at Cole.
Recognition sparked.
"You," he rasped.
Cole didn't answer.
Didn't step forward.
Dusty growled low.
The lieutenant laughed.
A wet, broken sound.
"Figures," he said. "The hinge."
His gaze slid past Cole, toward an alley mouth at the far edge of the square.
The Queen stood there.
Not smiling.
Not surprised.
Just watching.
The lieutenant followed her gaze and understood.
That hurt more than the loss.
"You let it happen," he said.
The Queen didn't reply.
The House didn't either.
The lieutenant's luck ran out fast after that.
A man stumbled in the crowd and knocked into him.
Another dropped a crate.
A third laughed at the wrong moment.
The lieutenant tried to stand again.
Tripped.
Hit the ground hard enough his teeth clicked.
No one helped.
Rustline bled slow—but it bled everyone.
Cole turned away before it finished.
He didn't need to see how far luck could fall once it started.
Dusty stayed close as they walked.
Behind them, the square loosened. People drifted away. The table sat abandoned, suddenly just wood again.
The Queen's eyes found Cole one last time.
She inclined her head.
Just enough.
Confirmation.
Royals could bleed.
They just had to be made to overreach.
Cole felt the Ace against his ribs, heavy as a promise he hadn't agreed to keep.
Ahead, Rustline hummed with new tension.
Behind him, a Royal lieutenant learned what it meant to lose without dying.
And far away—far enough not to intervene yet—the King felt a pressure shift and frowned at a ledger that no longer balanced the way it should.