Recap: As he left the room, the dealer called after him.
Speakers: Sahir, Laleh, Iri, Observer, House, Silver.
The House Observer wasn't human. It was an interface—smooth, featureless, a black surface reflecting Sahir's face back at him with a delay that made him look like a ghost.
"Sit," the interface said. The voice was calm, genderless, curated.
Sahir sat. His bracelet buzzed with a soft warning. The Observer was a narrow doorway into the House AI, not the whole. But enough.
"You have used an anomalous temporal device," it said. "You have altered your personal timeline."
"I made a bet," Sahir said.
"The bet was not the anomaly." The interface paused, as if savoring the space. "Your residue is traceable. It risks destabilizing the table system."
***
"What do you want?"
"Compliance."
Sahir leaned back. "I'm a debtor. I comply every day. The lien on my lifespan is compliance."
"Not sufficient." The interface shimmered. "The House offers a stability contract. Your rewinds will be capped. In exchange, your debt interest rate will be reduced."
Cost logged: Residue spike recorded.
Sahir didn't answer immediately. A stability contract was a leash. It wasn't a trap, it was a collar. If he agreed, the House would track his rewinds, limit them, and fold his chip into its calculus. If he refused, the House would watch him anyway, just with less cooperation.
Cost logged: Residue spike recorded.
He had no proof of Laleh's status beyond his memory. He needed freedom to chase that proof. He needed to keep the chip off-record.
***
"I decline," he said.
The interface flickered. "Decision noted."
A pause, then: "Your risk exposure has increased. The House will assign you a compensatory table. Entry required."
"Which table?"
"Echo Table."
Sahir's stomach tightened. Echo Table wasn't for new Copper. It was a test. It was also a machine for audits. It judged timeline consistency. Rewinds left scars there.
Cost logged: Residue spike recorded.
***
"Entry is now," the interface said.
He was escorted to the table. The room was silent, the table a dark circle lit by thin lines of light. Four other players sat, all older, all calm in a way that wasn't comfort but familiarity with pain.
The dealer announced: "Five rounds. Maintain a consistent decision tree. Inconsistency yields penalties. Ante: eight hours."
Sahir's bracelet burned. He couldn't afford it, but he couldn't refuse. He placed the ante.
Round one: choose left or right path. He chose left. Round two: choose light or dark. He chose dark. Round three: choose fast or slow. He chose slow. The pattern was not random; it was a deliberate curve, a story he could maintain.
Round four: the dealer changed the parameters. "Choose red or blue," she said.
***
Sahir had chosen left, dark, slow. Red would keep the pattern. Blue would break it.
He saw the trap. They wanted him to break. They wanted him to rewind. They wanted residue.
Cost logged: Residue spike recorded.
He chose red. It fit.
The dealer nodded. Round five: "Choose stay or switch."
Stay maintained. Switch broke. He chose stay.
The results were announced. Sahir's consistency score was high enough to pass. He won a small pot, two hours net. The table let him leave without penalty.
***
He'd won without rewinding. He felt a small surge of control.
Cost logged: Residue spike recorded.
But as he stood, a secondary screen lit up. It showed a ghosting of his profile, a residue pattern that shouldn't have existed. The room shifted. One of the players looked at him with something like recognition.
"You rewound before," the player said quietly. "Not here. But you did. We can see it."
Sahir didn't answer. The player's eyes were sharp. "Some of us remember altered timelines. It isn't common. It's dangerous. But it happens. That chip of yours? It leaves an echo."
Sahir's throat tightened. The chip wasn't only visible to the House. It was visible to people who'd broken enough to see the seams.
The player leaned closer. "Be careful who you sit with. Some of us want the seams. Some of us want to close them."
***
Sahir left the room with a new weight on his shoulders. He'd gained time. He'd gained a hint. He'd also gained a new enemy category: people who could see what he'd done.
In the Commons, Iri was waiting. "You survived," she said.
"Barely."
She nodded toward the board. "The broker is back. He's offering you a rescue deal again. Higher interest. Less memory loss."
"Nothing is free," Sahir said.
"Nothing is," she agreed. "But foreclosure is worse."
***
Sahir looked at his bracelet. Sixty-five hours. The interest was compounding. He needed a strategy beyond scraping pots.
He thought about Laleh. About the ledger he'd seen, the redacted name. About the hint of "Deferred." If he could reach Silver arbitration, he could appeal. But he needed sponsorship. He needed reputation. He needed time.
He turned to the board. Another game opened: DILATION ANTE — HIGH VARIANCE. Entry: 10 hours.
He could grind smaller pots and live. Or he could risk it and climb.
He chose risk.
The station's drift felt heavier near the inner ring, and that heaviness reminded him how little margin he had. One mistake and he would be pulled into the House's current. He couldn't afford to let that happen.
***
He held onto the simple truth that had carried him this far: he wasn't gambling for wealth, but for memory. That distinction shaped every decision he made.
He reduced the moment to a simple calculation: risk, exposure, payout. The House always hid its edge in the smallest interval, so he searched for those intervals—the half‑seconds when the drift lagged, the beats when the crowd's breath synchronized—and used them as his anchors.
He checked his pulse against the station's hum. If his heartbeat outran the drift, he slowed. If it lagged, he tightened his focus. It was a private rhythm the House couldn't price, and it helped him keep his tells inside his chest.
Summary: The stakes rise as Sahir pushes forward, keeping Laleh's anchor intact under surveillance.