The thing in the doorway didn't hurry.
Neither did Cole.
Rustline held its breath around them, the town drawn tight like a fist that hadn't decided whether it was going to punch or pray. The light spilling from the doorway cut a clean rectangle across the square, bleaching dust and shadow alike.
The shape stepped forward.
Tall. Narrow. Wrapped in a coat that looked stitched together from different eras of authority. No insignia. No crown. No obvious weapon.
That was the point.
The presence across the table shifted, not toward the newcomer, but away. Just enough for Cole to feel it. Royals respected hierarchy. They didn't like being surprised by it.
The Dealer had gone pale enough to look carved from salt.
Cole stayed standing.
"No Dealer," he said, voice flat. "No introductions. That's sloppy."
The thing tilted its head.
Its face wasn't wrong. That bothered him more than if it had been. Ordinary features. Forgettable. The kind of face that slipped out of memory the moment you stopped looking at it.
"I don't deal," it said.The voice carried. Not loud. Authoritative without effort.
"Then you don't belong at the table," Cole said.
The thing smiled.
"I belong to it."
The House flickered.
Not text.
Hesitation.
The three cards on the table slid apart, spacing themselves evenly. The Ten of Clubs stayed where it was. Anchored.
The thing stepped into the square. Each footfall landed half a beat late, like the ground had to check permission before accepting the weight.
Rustline's lights flickered again.
Somewhere glass shattered.
Cole felt it then—this wasn't a duel. Not even a wager in the clean sense. This was a claim being tested.
"You're bleeding the town," Cole said.
The thing glanced around, mildly curious.
"Rustline is a ledger," it replied. "Ledgers exist to be written in."
The table hummed.
Text snapped into clarity.
HOUSE OF RECKONING // DEALER ABSENTVARIANT: AUTONOMOUS RESOLUTIONSTAKE TYPE: ENVIRONMENTAL
Cole's jaw tightened.
"You're forcing a hand," he said.
"Yes," the thing answered simply.
The cards flipped.
All at once.
Cole didn't look right away. He felt the outcome first—a tightening in the air, like the world had already decided and was just waiting to see if he'd notice.
Then he looked.
His hand.
A straight.
Low. Clean. Nothing fancy. The kind of hand that won only because it refused to lose.
Across from him, the presence revealed its cards.
Better.
Not unbeatable. But better.
A full house, thin at the edges, like it had been assembled from borrowed luck.
The thing smiled faintly.
"Rustline stays," it said.
The House paused.
Text flickered. Rewrote itself.
LOSS…—RECALCULATING—
Cole felt it shift. Not correction. Interpretation.
"Wait," Cole said.
The thing's eyes flicked to him.
"You didn't specify who the win belonged to," Cole said. "No Dealer. No declaration. Just a resolution."
The table creaked.
The Ten of Clubs pulsed once.
Hard.
The House spoke.
WIN CONDITION: METBENEFICIARY: UNRESOLVED
The thing's smile vanished.
Rustline screamed.
Not people.
Infrastructure.
A transformer blew at the edge of town. A warehouse roof collapsed inward. Water lines ruptured beneath the square, sending a geyser of rusted spray into the air like a wound reopening.
Cole staggered as the ground bucked under him.
"That's not staying," he shouted over the noise.
"That's accounting," the thing snapped. "You don't get to—"
The House cut in.
WIN RECORDEDSETTLEMENT: PARTIALASSET DEGRADED
The thing recoiled.
Just a step.
Just enough.
Cole felt it—the House hadn't sided with him. It hadn't sided with the Royal either.
It had split the difference.
Rustline survived.
But not whole.
The lights came back on in patches. Dark zones spread like bruises. People screamed now. Real screams. The kind that didn't belong at tables.
The Dealer broke cover, running toward the damage, shouting orders that no one waited to hear.
Cole looked back at the table.
The cards were already fading. Ink thinning. Edges dissolving like they'd never agreed to be real in the first place.
The thing stood rigid, its authority… diminished.
"You cost me," it said.
Cole holstered the revolver he hadn't drawn.
"You cost them," he replied.
The thing turned toward him fully now. For the first time, Cole felt anger from it. Not loud. Not wild.
Personal.
"This isn't finished," it said.
"No," Cole agreed. "It's just visible now."
The House flickered one last line.
HOUSE OF RECKONING // RESOLUTION LOGGEDNOTE: ROYAL CLAIM — CONDITIONAL
The thing backed away, retreating toward the doorway it had come from. The light dimmed with each step, shrinking like a wound trying to close.
Before it vanished, it spoke again.
"The King will want words."
Cole met its gaze.
"He'll get them," he said. "Eventually."
The doorway snapped shut.
Dark rushed in to fill the space it left.
The square sagged, the pressure lifting all at once. Cole felt it in his knees, his spine. The aftermath of a hand that never should've been played.
Dusty barked once and finally crossed into the square, pressing hard against Cole's leg like he needed proof the world was still in one piece.
Cole rested a hand on the dog's head.
Around them, Rustline groaned and rebuilt itself in small, painful ways. Men dragging the injured. Women hauling water. The town alive, but wounded.
The table sat quiet again.
Scarred.
Waiting.
Cole looked east, where the light was already changing, shadows lengthening into shapes that promised more trouble than answers.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I figured."
Somewhere beyond Rustline, a King had just noticed the bill was coming due.
And Cole Marrow had signed for delivery.