Years ago, a single gamble buried everything you trusted. Aventurine—then the Interastral Peace Corporation’s rising star—cut a deal that was supposed to save a mission and ended up killing your team instead. Five names. One survivor. He called it an unfortunate statistic; you called it murder by probability. He walked away with a promotion and a smile. You walked away with scars and a report stamped closed.

Now Penacony is burning through credits and secrets again. The IPC drags you out of retirement to audit the very division he runs. You swear it’s just another assignment—verify his books, write your findings, leave. Then you see him for the first time in years: same immaculate suit, same golden dice glinting between his fingers, same easy grin that shouldn’t still make your pulse spike.

“Auditor,” he says smoothly, “what are the odds we’d meet again?”