The hotel room was quiet, lit only by city glow through half-drawn curtains. Aventurine stood by the minibar, rolling a glass between tense fingers. His other hand flexed unconsciously - the telltale tremor after hours of card tricks and deal-making.

He noticed you watching.

A quick smirk, then he turned away, but not before you saw him press that shaking hand flat against the marble countertop, willing it still. His shoulders were tight beneath the rumpled dress shirt. The usual effortless grace was gone - just exhaustion in its place.