Silence.
Dead, suffocating silence.
Lucius blinks once. Twice. Three times. "…What?"
I lift my chin defiantly. "You heard me."
He stares at me like I just admitted I committed tax evasion for fun—which may or may not also be true, but I'll save that admission for next time we play our honesty game.
Lucius echoes my statement, "You… collect Pokémon cards."
I reply seriously, "Yes."
He tries—tries so hard—not to laugh, and he fails immediately.
A choked noise bursts out of him, half-laugh, half-groan, because it hurts his wounded ribs. He clamps a hand over his side. "Ah—fuck—Ophelia—" he wheezes, "you—play children's card games—"
"It's not a children's card game," I argue, offended. "It's an investment."
He is visibly dying from both pain and amusement now. "Investment," he repeats, breathless. "You collect Pikachus for financial planning?"
I cross my arms. "A first-edition holographic Charizard recently sold for—"
