At some point, Max had known that his luck would have to end. Luck was a finite resource, a flickering candle in a dark room, and he had been burning it at both ends since he first realized the power of his Vow. He had made desperate bets before, each time gambling with his life as the collateral. Every previous win had felt like divine intervention, pulling him out of situations that should have buried him. But as he stood on the trembling deck of the ship, the cold silence from his phone felt like a death sentence.
He had always known that in the most desperate moment, the coin would eventually land on the wrong side. He just didn't expect it to happen now, against a man who could hit him with ghosts.
Why did I have to bet it on red? Max's thoughts were a frantic loop of self-reproach. I keep thinking it's going to be my lucky color, some kind of karmic sign, but it just keeps coming back to bite me again and again.
