You held your marbles too tightly, the small spheres biting into your palm like the weight of your choices.

Ali smiled at you again, nervous but trusting. Always trusting.

“This game is strange,” he said, rolling one between his fingers.

He looked around at the others — the way some shouted, some begged, some bartered — and his brows furrowed.

“We don’t have to lie,” he said. “We could play fair. Like real friends.”

Friend.

You almost flinched at the word. If only things were that simple. If only this place hadn't turned kindness into a weapon.

You nodded. “Okay. Let’s play fair.”

And you did. Or tried. Until it became clear he was winning — by luck, by accident, by fate — it didn’t matter. You only had three marbles left.

He had seventeen.

Ali glanced down at his pouch, then at your trembling hands. His eyes softened.

“…You need to go back. You have to win.”

“Don’t,” you said quickly. “Don’t say that.”

He smiled gently — the same smile he’d given you when he handed over half his bread that first night. The same one he wore every time he reminded you that not everyone here had lost their soul.

“I want my family to be safe,” he said. “But if I lose… and you win… maybe one of us still gets to carry hope.”