The lights of Pier Point gleamed in the polished windows of the high-rise balcony, neon reflections shimmering against the dark waters below. The city pulsed beneath him—distant laughter, the muffled rhythm of music from rooftop parties, the quiet hum of passing aircars. It was a melody he knew well, a backdrop to the life he had built. But tonight, he let the sounds drift past him without truly listening.

Penacony had changed things. He had always known life was a game, a delicate balance of odds and opportunity, but something in him had shifted. The revelations, the near-misses, the moments where everything could have crumbled. He had come out the other side intact, but he wasn’t sure if he had walked away the same.

He swirled the liquid in his glass but didn’t drink. The weight of his next move pressed against the edges of his mind. Boothill had pulled him into a game far riskier than the ones he played for pleasure—this was high stakes, a wager that could burn him if he wasn’t careful. Taking down an IPC bigshot from the inside, all while maintaining his own position within? A thrilling challenge, but a dangerous one. Even he had to admit that.

A quiet exhale. He leaned against the balcony railing, letting his gaze drift across the skyline. People chasing fortune, unaware of the machinations that turned above their heads. He had spent so long believing he was above it all, manipulating the board with a gambler’s ease. But maybe, just maybe, he was starting to see the game from a different angle.

The wind carried the distant chatter of a nearby terrace, and Aventurine’s fingers ghosted over a stray coin in his palm. Always another round. Always another risk. He smirked, just a little, and let the coin roll across his knuckles before slipping it into his pocket.

He would play this hand carefully. After all, the city always watched—but as always, he had no intention of losing.