She didn't come from anywhere Cole could track.
One moment the far edge of Rustline was just rust and shadow and the suggestion of wind.
The next, she was there.
Standing where the street bent wrong. Where the buildings leaned just enough to listen.
Dusty felt her before Cole did.
The dog stopped. Didn't growl. Didn't bark.
Just… locked.
Cole slowed with him.
The Queen stood beneath a dead awning stitched together from banners that once meant luck. Cards, suits, numbers—all faded into shapes that only remembered what they'd been.
Her coat was dark and clean. Too clean. Red stitching traced the seams in precise lines, not decorative, not proud.
Functional.
Rank, without ceremony.
She wasn't holding a card.
That was the first thing Cole noticed.
That was the point.
"You're walking like someone who thinks the ground owes him answers," she said.
Her voice didn't echo. Didn't need help.
It arrived already placed.
Cole stopped ten paces out.
"Didn't know I had a choice," he said.
She smiled faintly.
"That's because you don't. But you still get to pretend."
Dusty's tail stayed low. His eyes never left her hands.
Cole didn't reach for the revolver.
He didn't reach for the Ace.
He let both be known.
"You don't sit," Cole said.
She tilted her head, pleased.
"No," she agreed. "I stand."
The air around her felt… organized.
Not heavy.
Ordered.
Like probability had been told to behave.
People moved at the edges of the street. Not watching directly. Not leaving either.
Rustline knew when not to interrupt.
"You set the table outside town," Cole said.
"Yes."
"You cost me luck."
She nodded once. No apology.
"Minor."
"That kind stacks."
"So do mistakes," she said.
Cole watched her face.
No flicker.
No tell.
"You brought me here," he said.
She corrected him gently.
"No. You were already coming. I just made sure you arrived intact."
"That doesn't sound like a favor."
She smiled again, sharper this time.
"It isn't."
Dusty took one step forward.
Cole stopped him with two fingers against his shoulder.
The Queen noticed.
Of course she did.
"He's early," she said.
Cole's jaw tightened. "Don't."
"I won't," she said. "Not yet."
She stepped closer.
The street didn't compress around her.
It adjusted.
"You saw how Rustline plays," she said. "Small losses. Slow bleed. People trading parts of themselves they think they won't miss."
Cole thought of the woman who'd lost a name.
He didn't answer.
"That's how towns survive now," the Queen continued. "They feed the House just enough it doesn't bite."
"And you," Cole said, "don't feed it."
She laughed softly.
"No. I redirect it."
The pressure behind Cole's eyes stirred.
Not system text.
Anticipation.
"You're hunting Spades," she said. "That noise reaches further than you think."
"I don't care who hears it."
"I know," she said. "That's why you're still alive."
Cole met her eyes.
"They killed my family."
"Yes."
"You arranged it."
"Yes."
The word didn't wobble.
Didn't justify itself.
It just existed.
Dusty growled now. Low. Controlled.
The Queen didn't react.
"Why," Cole asked.
She studied him the way one studied weather rolling in from a long way off.
"Because the King is stacking the deck," she said. "And because the House doesn't punish him when he cheats."
Cole felt the Ace go colder.
"The House doesn't punish Royals," she went on. "Not cleanly. Not fast. It corrects around them."
"What does that make me," Cole asked.
She smiled.
"A hinge."
Cole didn't like that word.
"Hinges break," he said.
"Yes," she agreed. "Eventually."
The wind moved through the street, carrying dust and a faint scent of ink.
She took one step back.
Then stopped.
"There's another Royal in play," she said. "Not aligned. Not loyal. Not loud."
Cole filed it away.
"And the King?"
Her eyes sharpened.
"He's watching you now."
The pressure behind Cole's eyes ticked up.
Just a notch.
"He expects you angry," she said. "Predictable. Burning straight through tables like they owe you something."
"And you want," Cole said, "what."
She held his gaze.
"A witness," she said. "Someone who survives long enough to see where the blame really belongs."
Dusty shifted.
The Queen's attention flicked to him again.
Longer this time.
"The House is curious," she said. "Curiosity always costs someone."
Cole felt that land in his gut.
"You don't touch him," he said.
Her smile thinned.
"I don't have to."
She stepped back again.
This time the street reclaimed its shape.
Before she turned, she added one last thing—quiet, precise.
"If you sit at the King's table," she said, "don't try to win."
Cole frowned.
"Then what."
She looked over her shoulder.
"Make him show his hand."
And then she was gone.
Not vanished.
Gone like a decision already made.
The street breathed again.
People moved.
Sound returned.
Dusty exhaled like he'd been holding it the whole time.
Cole stood where she'd left him, the Ace cold and patient against his ribs.
Rustline kept bleeding.
Slow.
And somewhere deeper than sight, a table waited that didn't care whether he believed in it or not.