Ludo’s grin widened impossibly. “Agreed.”

It always did.

Cermia stopped walking. She looked at the ghost-soldier. At her weeping self. And she laughed.

Cermia’s hand drifted to the massive gun-sword slung across her back. “I don’t play with things that bleed smoke.”

“You think I’m lucky?” she shouted into the void. “I’ve lost more than I’ve won. I’ve been broke, beaten, and left for dead. Luck isn’t a gift—it’s a choice.”

“One condition,” she said, standing. “When I come back, I keep your head as a coin purse.”