The summons came at breakfast.

  Seven sat alone in the mess hall, spending one of the precious few meal tickets she had left. By the time she and Luca had finished weaving a circuitous route around the upper part of the mines, it had been nearly dawn. She hadn’t had the energy to make it back to Emmet’s apartment; whatever she’d done to bust through the wall had drained her so thoroughly that she’d simply collapsed on one of the community couches among the drunkards before stumbling into the mess hall.

  Luca hadn’t shown up. Neither had Emmet. But, well, at least she had her card back. And some of her dignity.

  She’d barely forced herself halfway through the rubbery eggs on her plate when a shadow stood over the table, blotting her plate out entirely. She looked up to find an overly cheerful man, his black hair slicked back, his eyes dead, his smile as plastered as his hair.

  “Can I help you?” She asked, eggs still on her fork.

  “Good morning!” He chirped, his voice so enthusiastic she had to flinch. Thirteen take her, when was the last time she’d had a headache this bad? “Employee number…” He read the now too-familiar set of numbers that was apparently more important than her name.

  “That’s me,” she said, shoving a tasteless bite of toast into her mouth. “Get on with it. I have a shift later.”

  The man offered a pink slip of paper with two fingers like it might bite him if he wasn’t careful. Still, his smile remained. The color was so bright that it made her headache worse, but Seven took it without comment and opened it to read the words printed there:

  MANDATORY PERFORMANCE REVIEW.

  JOM ROOK’S OFFICE.

  0800 HOURS.

  FAILURE TO ATTEND WILL RESULT IN FURTHER DEBT RESTRUCTURING.

  Seven blinked, her sluggish mind trying to piece it together. “That’s in ten minutes.”

  “Better hurry, then!” The man chirped, pivoting so quickly that his polished shoes squeaked. “Mr. Rook doesn’t like it when you’re late!” He bustled away from the table without waiting for a further response. Of course, he didn’t need it. What was Seven going to do? Say no? At LMC, she’d quickly found out, compliance was the only option.

  And yet, compliance or not, she couldn’t help but think she was walking into a trap. The entire compound was abuzz with the events of the night before—not necessarily her break-in with Luca, but the fire and the apparent break-in at the dice vault far deeper in the building. What business would Rook have with employee evaluations now?

  She set her fork down, the eggs now forgotten, and stared at the paper in her hands, trying to figure out what angle Rook was playing. Pocket slipped his head out of her shirt pocket, his little eyes peering up at her. “Do you think he knows?”

  Seven folded the note and stuffed it into her trousers. “Definitely.”

  Pocket considered that as she stood with legs that still shook. Luck above, what she’d do for another set of dice to drain. Surely she hadn’t used that much Luck last night. “Are we going to die again?”

  “Probably.”

  He made a small, satisfied hum. “Good. I should update my will.”

  “You don’t have a will.”

  “I’m reconsidering it after the events of the last few days.”

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “Pocket, you have to own things to have a will—what do you have?”

  “All kinds of things.”

  “My mattress doesn’t count.”

  “But—“

  “Neither do the library books.”

  ***

  The path from the mess hall to the administrative building was short, but it felt unbearably long. Seven couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t seen Emmet all day, or why Luca had disappeared so quickly and wordlessly the night before. Had they both sold her out?

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  She shook her head and forced herself through the mud, trying to ignore the biting chill of the wind, the smoke and metallic tang of processed dice ore. Even if Luca and Emmet had turned her in, what was the worst they could do to her? Send her back into the mines?

  Seven couldn’t help but laugh a bit at that. Her daily job here was by far the worst thing she’s ever experienced, and yet, strangely, she almost liked it. It was miserable, yes, but there was something intoxicating about the thrill of betting her life, her reputation, her very future on it all. There was something addicting about knowing that every swing, every dangerous level of the mines, could bring her closer to the truth about her rival’s real crimes.

  But a performance review was still nerve-wracking, particularly after what she’d gotten up to last night. The mines were one thing, but the bureaucratic hellscape of LMC itself was quite another. LMC could tell you to jump into your own grave and smile while doing it, and they’d have the paperwork to back up such an insane request.

  She crossed the main plaza, which was still overrun with LMC’s enforcers and others who looked like they might be trying to assess the damage of the smoking ruin that was HQ. In spite of everything, Seven couldn’t help but feel her frazzled nerves reacting. She’d barely slept the night before, and with her Luck completely drained, the stress of everything had blurred together and left her desperate to get this meeting with Rook the Rounder over with.

  She ducked under the now-charred main entrance and into the reception area, trying not to hold her nose at the smell. Business still came and went as if nothing had happened—LMC’s employees flitted about, clipboards in hands—but the walls were charred black, the furniture lumps of coal or worse, and the front desk looked like it was held together with some sort of desperate prayer.

  Seven approached it, and a woman in lime green who looked none too happy to be there waved her through, barely looking at her.

  “Go on in,” she said. “He’s waiting.”

  Seven stepped around the woman, relieved, at least, that not everyone at LMC was certifiably insane. That relief evaporated entirely as she approached the sitting area she’d been in just the night before—this area less damaged by fire and more by smoke—and pushed open Rook’s office door.

  The dice were still there—just as dead as they’d been the night before. But instead of sitting on the shelves, they’d been tossed about; several sat in piles on the floor, clearly thrown there in a rage. The rest of the office was no better; the two chairs in front of Rook’s desk sat upended, one thrown so hard into the wall that it was wedged in the plaster, and one smaller shelf lay on its side nearby.

  Seven paused at the doorway, taking the destruction in until Rook turned from where he’d been observing something on his shelf. His round face broke into a grin that didn’t meet his eyes.

  “There she is!” He said, beaming. “My rising star.”

  Seven froze in the doorway, looking for some sort of sign in his expression that he knew. For a note of rage, of hatred—of anything, really. But Rook’s expression remained carefully blank, the smile plastered on his face.

  “Please, sit,” he said, taking a seat in his own chair—the only one in the office not upended. Seven stooped to right the closest chair, checking the leg for integrity before sinking into it. He steepled his fingers and leaned over his desk, smiling at her. “You’re doing well, I hear.”

  “Sir,” she said cautiously, almost stupidly, really. She almost felt like she should keep her mouth shut, but she couldn’t help it as the words tumbled from her mouth. “After hearing about what happened last night, and, well, seeing it, I can’t help but think that it’s a strange time for a performance evaluation.”

  Rook laughed. “Nonsense!” He said, slamming a palm down on the desk that made Seven flinch. “I always have time for my employees, even during a crisis. And you, my dear, are one of my best! Your numbers have been excellent of late—I guess you took my advice to heart, eh?”

  “Uh—“

  “Consistently above quota,” he went on. “Resourceful. Efficient. Why, you’re practically a different miner from your first day!”

  “It’s only been a week—“

  “Exactly! And what a week it’s been. What a week…it’s been.” He trailed off, his eyes peering around the room, then back to Seven. She wasn’t particularly afraid of Rook, but there was something unnerving about the way he swung from one extreme to the other. Something strange about the way his emotions played strangely over his face, as if he was warring with something deep inside.

  He tilted his head, examining her with the sort of expression that one might have when studying a science experiment. His eyes went cold. “There’s just one tiny problem,” he said, and Seven stiffened. “Do you know the problem with employees who exceed expectations?”

  “No.”

  “They get ideas,” he said. His voice was softer now, his words almost genial. “They wander. They explore. They poke around and ask questions.” He paused, then added, “Sometimes in places they shouldn’t.”

  He rifled through the file cabinet and pulled out a charred set of papers, rifling through them. “Terrible accident last night, you know,” he said. “Fire here at headquarters. Investigators found evidence of not one, but two separate break-ins.” His smile continued. “Imagine that. Two in one night. Very strange, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Very strange,” she agreed, fighting to keep her voice under control. He didn’t know. She hadn’t been seen, and if Luca and Emmet had turned her in, she would already be in chains. This was a sparring match, nothing more.

  “I’m sure you understand,” he said, “that when something strange happens, someone must be held responsible. It would be unfortunate if the incorrect person were chosen.”

  The room felt just a bit colder, and Seven clenched her hand tightly, trying to ignore the growing warmth in her palm. Why would her palm react to Rook now of all times?

  He slid a packet across the desk, his smile fading at the edges. “Given your…outstanding performance,” he said, “we’re moving you to a new assignment.”

  Seven reached for the papers, trying to keep her hands steady. She opened the packet and read the printed words there, feeling sick, elated, and pissed off all at once.

  Also, if you'd like to read ahead, or sign up for free for news and updates, you can find my .

  NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.