Page 4 of Zayrik

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Zayrik

I LEANED BACK IN MYchair, fingers tapping idly against my stack of credits. The air in the gambling den was thick with heat, spice and the acrid tang of too many bodies packed into a space designed to drown men in debt.

Another backroom game. Another outpost. Another night where luck was a weapon, and desperation stank worse than bad ale.

The dealer slid the next round of cards across the table, and I picked mine up slowly. No need to rush. The others were already sweating, shifting in their seats, counting how much they could afford to lose.

I wasn’t worried.

Daskir was a game of risk, but it was also a game of reading people.

The human across from me, a broad-shouldered brute with a scar cutting down his temple, drummed his fingers too fast.Nervous.

The Etraxian beside him flicked a glance at his dwindling stack, mandibles twitching.Desperate.

Across from me, a Setran woman swirled the drink in her glass, gaze steady.Unreadable.

That one had my attention.

Not just because she was the only one whowasn’tsweating. More like she’d already figured out how this would end, and she wasn’t here to stop it.

The next round of bets went in. I matched without hesitation. Let them think I was just another gambler, looking for a thrill. Let them think I wasn’t paying attention.

The truth? I’d already picked out who would fold, who would bluff, and who was about to lose more than they could afford.

The pot climbed. Bigger than any normal backroom deal.

The human with the scar shifted in his seat, jaw tightening. Out of options.

Then he did something stupid.

“I’m raising.” His voice was rough, strained. He shoved his remaining credits forward, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a data chip.

“This too.”

The table went still.

The dealer barely reacted. Maybe this kind of desperation wasn’t uncommon.

“What’s on the chip?” I asked, voice even.

The human’s fingers curled into a fist; knuckles pale. “Ship registry,” he muttered. “Clean papers. Good condition.”

I doubted that. No one threw a perfectly good ship into a Daskir pot unless they were running from something worse.

The Setran woman finally showed interest, tilting her head. She was just as curious as I was. Not a surprise, Setran traders dealt in information.She already knows something.

No one objected. The bet stood.

The final card hit the table. I glanced at my hand. Then at his.

Game over.

The human’s face went pale. He knew.

“Looks like you’re out,” I said.

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