Recap: The handler leaned in.
Speakers: Sahir, Laleh, House, Copper.
The handler led Sahir through a corridor where the light ran slower than his steps. The station's skeleton hummed, metal singing against gravity. He felt the loss in his finger every time he brushed the wall, an absence that made his skin feel louder than it should.
They stopped at a glass partition overlooking a bank of tables. The handler didn't sit. "You've been flagged."
"For winning?" Sahir said.
"For residue." The handler tapped a small holo display. It showed a faint ghost around Sahir's silhouette, a shadow of him out of alignment by a heartbeat. "The House doesn't like ghosts. It confuses the odds."
"You run a casino on a black hole. Confusion is the business model."
A flicker of amusement. "The House Edge must remain calibrated. Anything that shifts the odds without the House's consent is… frowned upon."
***
Sahir didn't answer. He'd learned long ago that arguing with the House was like arguing with the tide. You could do it. You just had to accept you'd be wet.
The handler pushed a data shard across the glass. "Copper backlog entries are expected to pay a visibility fee. You can either pay it now, or take a table assignment with risk exposure to compensate."
"How much?"
"Six hours."
Sahir's lien had ticked down to seventy-one. Six was a week of memory in the wrong game. "And the table assignment?"
"House's choice. Zero negotiation. High variance."
***
Sahir weighed it. Pay the fee and stay invisible. Take the table and risk his debt—but also gain leverage. The House wanted him visible. That meant opportunity.
He chose the table.
The handler nodded as if they'd already known. "Table thirteen. Chrono Pot."
They walked through a corridor of projected stars. Sahir could feel the station rotating beneath his feet, feel time sliding in layers across the floor. Every step was a wager.
Chrono Pot was a pit of glowing tokens suspended in a ring. Memories, lifespan, sensory snippets. Each token pulsed a different color. The objective was simple: build the largest pot by trading assets before the timer collapsed.
The House Edge was built into the market tick. Prices updated just a fraction too late for the players. The House always bought low. The House always sold high.
***
Sahir took a seat, five other players arrayed around the ring. A dealer with mirrored eyes announced the entry: four hours. Players could ante memory fragments or time. Some leaned forward eagerly. Some wore masks to hide their tells.
Sahir placed four hours. The bracelet burned again. The ring pulsed. Tokens floated into the pot.
A woman across from him slid a memory token: pale blue, a childhood smell. Another player anted a year of lifespan. A third placed a full sense—hearing, by the look of his slight tilt toward the dealer's mouth.
The market ticked. Values shifted. The pot grew.
Sahir studied the tick pattern, the slight delay. He saw the House Edge as a curve, a slope in the data. He couldn't erase it. He could only ride it.
He traded a small memory—an old train schedule from a city he didn't live in anymore. It wasn't tied to Laleh. He kept that locked away in his mind like a vault. The market accepted. His token glowed in the pot.
***
The dealer announced: "Fifteen seconds to collapse."
The ring brightened. Players traded faster. Bluff tells emerged—hands hovering, eyes flicking to the tick that came too late. Sahir saw an opening. The player to his right had anted a significant lifespan block and was desperate to cash out. He leaned in, angled his shoulder, and whispered a bluff about a hidden memory market crash. The player flinched, shifted his token, overpaid to get out.
Sahir bought it. He'd doubled down on a lie. The pot surged.
The timer hit zero. The ring collapsed, tokens fusing. The dealer's mirrored eyes shimmered. "Winners."
Sahir's balance ticked up: twelve hours net.
A low hum ran through the table. A few players looked at him differently now. He'd taken advantage of the House Edge instead of being crushed by it.
***
As he stood, a data slip slid into his hand. Copper Commons Access — CONDITIONAL.
He felt the chip in his coat. He hadn't rewound. He didn't want to. Every use left residue. Every residue widened the House's attention.
The handler reappeared at his shoulder. "You learn fast."
"I listen," Sahir said.
"You'll need more than listening. Copper Commons has a broker waiting. He'll offer you a rescue deal."
"And the catch?"
***
"The House always has an edge."
Sahir pocketed the slip and felt the lack in his finger again. He could still move it. It just didn't feel the world. A blank space in his map of himself.
He walked toward the Commons. The lights shifted, slower now. He could feel time thickening in the corridor, the deeper he went.
The broker waited at a small table in a private alcove. He was thin, ageless, with hands that moved like a magician's.
"You're Sahir," the broker said. "I can restructure your lien. Buy you time. All you have to do is sign."
Sahir looked at the contract. It was written in the House's language: clean, precise, lethal. A clause buried in the middle flickered—MEMORY FORFEITURE: VARIABLE.
***
"What's variable?" Sahir asked.
"Your memory, of course."
Sahir smiled and pushed the contract back. "No."
The broker tilted his head, recalculating. "You're in no position to refuse."
"Maybe," Sahir said. "But I can still bluff."
He stood. The broker's smile didn't reach his eyes.
Summary: The pressure escalates as Sahir balances clean wins against mounting obligations.