Red light pulsed from the three cards sliding across the damp wooden crate. "Keep your eyes on the lady," I called out, my voice raspy from the cold rain. "Find the Queen of Hearts, and you double your silver." Desperate eyes followed my hands as I shuffled. A crowd of factory workers and low-lifes pressed close, their breath misting in the freezing night air of the Penance Wing. They wanted an easy win, a miracle to lift them out of this neon-drenched gutter. But miracles didn't exist down here. Only illusions did. My fingers moved with practiced ease, a microscopic spark of blood-red magic clinging to the underside of the middle card to keep it hidden. "That one," a burly miner grunted, slamming a dented silver coin onto the crate. "I know she's in the middle." "You sure about that?" I asked, a faint, cynical smirk playing on my lips. Slowly, I flipped the middle card over. It was the Jack of Spades, its painted face seeming to mock him. The miner groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat before walking away into the smog. "Better luck next time, friend," I muttered, sweeping his coin into my pocket. Inside my chest, a brief pang of guilt flared, but I crushed it without mercy. Guilt was a luxury that didn't pay for my synthetic bread or the rent on my crumbling apartment. "One more round!" another voice shouted, but I was already shaking my head. "Game's closed for the night," I replied, gathering the cards into a neat stack. "Go home before the enforcers decide to clear the streets with their shock batons." Quietly, I packed my worn deck into my pocket. My palms were slick with sweat, the faint scent of copper lingering on my skin from the tiny amount of blood magic I had channeled. Using my family's card magic for street hustles felt like a disgrace, but survival demanded dirty hands. Once, my family had ruled the crimson courts of Paragon. My mother had been the Queen of Hearts, a woman of terrifying power and absolute authority. Now, she was locked away in a high-security dungeon, and I was just another gutter rat trying to avoid the hunger. Walking away from the market square, I pulled my hood up. Rain began to fall harder, washing the grease and soot down the gutters of the Penance Wing. I needed to meet Jax, my only ally in this hellhole. He was supposed to have information on a high-paying gig in the upper sectors. Jax was the only person in this godforsaken slum I actually trusted. He had saved me from a pack of feral hounds when I first arrived here, and we had been looking out for each other ever since. --- Rain tasted like copper and cheap ozone in the Penance Wing. Flickering neon signs dyed the puddles a greasy, toxic pink. Deep in the maze of alleyways, my boots sank into the damp grime of a world forgotten by the golden spires above. High up, beyond the heavy smog, the glittering towers of Paragon scraped the sky like jagged teeth. Those pristine spires belonged to the golden heirs, the perfect children of fairy-tale royalty who never had to worry about mud or hunger. They lived in a world of absolute goodness, while we were branded as wicked from birth. I hated them. Their perfect lives, their shining armor, and their insufferable sunshine made me sick. Especially Luke, the golden boy of the Cinderella house, whose smiling face was plastered all over the news screens. Something shifted in the dark behind me. Metal scraped against wet brick, a deliberate, heavy sound designed to make a lesser man run. I didn't run. Instead, I kept my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my faded denim jacket. My fingers brushed the cool, familiar edges of my favorite card deck. Worn at the corners, the paper was frayed from years of street hustles and back-alley games. "Running only makes us chase you, Heart," a gravelly voice grunted from the shadows. Three figures stepped into the pink glow of a buzzing noodle shop sign. They wore the heavy leather coats of the Spade Syndicate, their collars turned up against the acid drizzle. Cold dread spiked in my chest, but I clamped a lid on it immediately. My jaw tightened, the muscles locking into a rigid mask of indifference. "You boys are a long way from your fancy gambling dens," I said, keeping my voice flat and dry. "Boss wants his tribute," the lead thug said, stepping forward. He was a massive brute with a scar that split his lower lip into a permanent sneer. A brass-knuckled fist twitched at his side, humming with low-grade electric magic. "Tell your boss his math is off," I replied, sliding a single card from the deck. I held it between my index and middle fingers, letting the card tip peek out. Inside my veins, my blood began to hum, a hot, liquid heat that rushed toward my fingertips. "We don't do math, kid," the second thug sneered, pulling a long, serrated blade from his belt. "Our boss wants blood, and we always deliver." Slowly, I pulled my hand from my pocket, revealing the blank card. My magic bled into the paper, a crimson border spreading across the edges. A sharp, sweet smell of burnt sugar filled the air as the magic took hold. Crimson light pulsed from the card, casting long, bloody reflections across the wet brick walls. "Back off," I warned, my voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "I am not in the mood for this tonight." Water dripped from the rusty fire escape above, splashing against my cheek. Neither of them blinked. They never did. With a synchronized roar, the three thugs lunged forward. Scarred and massive, the leader swung his fist, his electric brass knuckles crackling with blue sparks that hissed in the falling rain. I ducked his swing, the heat of the current passing so close I could smell the singed fabric of my collar. My instincts took over, honed by years of surviving on these brutal streets. I flicked my wrist, sending the crimson-trimmed card spinning into the air. It multiplied in a flash of red light, three glowing blades of pure energy hovering between us. "Get him!" the leader screamed. Rushing me from the side, the second thug aimed his serrated blade straight for my chest. I didn't flinch. I directed one of the glowing cards with a wave of my hand. It shot forward, a streak of blood-red light that struck his knife with a metallic screech. Steel sheared clean off its hilt, clattering into the mud. He stared at the empty handle in shock. "My blade..." he gasped. "My magic is sharper," I muttered, spinning another card into my palm. Before he could recover, I swept my leg out, catching him behind the knees. He crashed hard onto the cobblestones, his breath leaving him in a wet grunt. I didn't stop to watch him fall. Iron swung toward my temple as the third thug tried to blindside me with a heavy pipe. I raised my left arm, a glowing red shield of interconnected cards materializing just in time. Heavy metal struck the barrier with a dull, vibrating thud. Impact reverberated up my arm, making my teeth rattle. I gritted my teeth, pushing back against his weight. With a sharp twist of my wrist, I shattered the shield, sending the fragments flying outward like razor-sharp glass. They sliced through his leather coat, leaving shallow, stinging cuts on his arms. He cried out, stumbling backward into a pile of wet trash. Now, only the leader was left standing. He swung his electrified fist again, desperate and wild. I dodged his strike, stepping inside his guard. My hand shot out, pressing the edge of my glowing card directly against his throat. Red energy sizzled against his skin, leaving a faint, smoking line. He froze, his breath hitching as the heat of my magic pressed against his jugular. "Who sent you?" I demanded, my voice cold as ice. "I paid my dues to the Spade Syndicate last week," I continued, my grip tightening on the card. "We had a deal." "No more shaking me down." Spitting blood onto my boot, the leader glared at me with desperate defiance. "Your dues don't mean spit when your location gets sold to the highest bidder," he growled. "We knew exactly where you'd be tonight." A cold knot formed in my stomach, heavy and suffocating. "Who sold me out?" I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Nobody knows my routes except..." "Jax," the thug wheezed, a cruel smirk stretching his bloody lips. "That little rat sold you for fifty silver pieces." "Said you were getting too arrogant anyway." My world seemed to tilt. Jax. He was the only person in this godforsaken slum I had actually trusted. He had pulled me out of the gutter when I first arrived in the Penance Wing. We had shared moldy bread, stolen blankets, and kept each other's secrets. I had let him see behind my walls, let him know where I slept and how I moved. And he had sold me for fifty pieces of silver. A bitter, icy wave of isolation washed over me. It felt worse than any physical blow I had taken tonight. My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. It was a familiar, painful reminder of why I never should have let my guard down. Everyone in this world was bound to leave, to sell out, to stab me in the back. Trust was a luxury for the golden heirs in their high towers. Down here, it was a death

Chapter 1: A Jack of All Fools