The silence inside the observation room was suffocating.Grant sat in front of the camera, cards faced down on the cold steel table, his palms pressed together in a quiet, desperate prayer. The weight of the moment sat heavy on his chest.His eyes drifted to the monitor—Peter’s face stared back at him from the soundproof chamber, unreadable as always. Calm. Silent. But Grant could feel it—beneath that still exterior, Peter was waiting.Waiting for him.“Please…” Grant whispered inwardly. “Please tell me he sees it. Please let him understand what I’m trying to do.”This time, there was no bluff. No fabricated signal. This time, Grant had chosen a deliberate card pattern—one he believed Peter could read.He has to. We’re gambling with his life.Come on, Peter… trust me.He leaned forward.And flipped the five cards.One by one.Heart. Spade. Club. Heart. Diamond.His breath hitched.That was it. That was his line of thought. That was his message.Now, it was out of his han

In the soundproof observation chamber, Grant was practically buzzing with relief and joy. His fists clenched in silent triumph, his eyes wide with excitement.“Peter…” he whispered, eyes wide with admiration. “You’re amazing. You really pulled it off again. You knew exactly what I was thinking! We’re actually doing it.”He leaned back in his seat, a breathless grin overtaking his face for the first time since this nightmare began. Maybe they could win this. Maybe this hellish gamble could actually end in their favor.He grinned as he looked down at the next stack of cards laid before him. For the first time since this hellish game began, starting another round felt like good news.“This time, I’ll reproduce her lineup again,” Grant thought, flipping through the cards with eager hands. “Peter will catch on. We’ve got this.”But then—Riiiiing.The moderator's phone rang, sharply, slicing through the air like a guillotine. The moderator, ever calm and unreadable, picked it up and

The moment Grant was unshackled and released from the nightmare underground, he didn’t pause. He didn’t question. He didn’t breathe.He ran.The corridors blurred as his footsteps echoed through them, heartbeat matching their pace. His legs screamed, his lungs burned, but he didn’t stop—not until he reached the hospital.The automatic doors hissed open. The sterile air of antiseptics and soft beeping monitors filled his senses. But none of it mattered—not the nurse passing him with a clipboard, nor the receptionist offering a quiet smile.Only the room at the end of the hallway mattered.Peter’s room.Grant approached quietly, his earlier urgency melting into something more hesitant, more fragile. He paused at the door, looking in through the narrow glass pane.And there he was.Peter Donovan.Sitting upright in the hospital bed, the white sheets folded neatly across his lap, an IV still trailing from his arm. He wasn’t asleep, but neither did he look awake. His eyes were open, fixed

Years AgoAfter his father’s death, something inside Peter shut down.He still smiled at home—for his mother’s sake. He forced himself to eat dinner, talk about his day, pretend like things were okay.But the moment he stepped outside that front door, everything turned gray. School felt pointless. People became background noise. Every sound, every color, every bit of life dulled like a photograph left in the sun.He carried the guilt everywhere. Heavy. Constant.He blamed himself.But more than that—he blamed gambling.That final gamble… the one his father lost everything on.It didn’t matter that Peter had nothing to do with it. In his heart, he believed if he had been stronger, smarter, faster—maybe he could’ve stopped it.So he made a promise.No more risks.No more games.No more gambles.That was the code he lived by.Until the day he met her.---It was a cold, quiet morning. Peter had his hands in his pockets, walking to school like always—head down, earbuds in, lost in his tho

The stage lights dimmed as Peter and Naomi were ushered to their seats at the center of the circular platform. Two chairs faced each other beneath a low-hanging spotlight. Between them was a sleek, velvet-covered poker table. A hush fell over the crowd as the audience filled in around them, seated in rising tiers of deep crimson seats. It reminded Peter of a gladiator pit—only tonight, the weapons weren’t swords or spears. They were cards. And cash. Peter glanced out at the crowd. It was bigger than he expected—rows and rows of students, professors, spectators, and even masked officials from the gambling committee. Most of the faces were unfamiliar, but all wore the same expression: eager anticipation. Why the hell are they all here? Before Peter could gather his thoughts, a chime echoed across the hall. 9:00 p.m. Right on cue, the dealer walked onto the stage. She was a woman in her late thirties, with shoulder-length silver hair tied neatly in a braid that swung gently wi