Julius stared at him for a second more.

Before Julius said, "Sure," and tapped the table.

Across the dealer’s station, Lilianna’s eyebrow twitched. It was subtle, but Neville caught it.

So she does know the sequence, Neville confirmed silently. She knows exactly which card was supposed to go where. But is it still selective?

And now the wrong card was going to the wrong player.

Lilianna dealt.

A four.

Julius: eighteen.

A solid, comfortable, winning eighteen was in Julius’s hands right now.

"Thanks," Julius said, flashing a smile of gratitude to Neville.

His expression softened significantly, making him look more approachable than usual.

Neville shrugged. "Whatever did I do? I just merely told you because everyone hit before you."

The lie was smooth but utterly unconvincing.

Julius’s smile widened a little—and then froze.

Because behind Neville, Grayson was staring at Julius. His eyes had gone flat and cold. They were locked onto Julius, who looked like he wanted to cut him right there and then.

Julius felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and turned away quickly. Now, he looked like an awkward man who didn’t know how to deal with eye contact.

Neville, who had noticed Julius’s sudden stiff movements and abrupt retreat, frowned.

What was that about? he wondered.

He watched Julius act as if he had just found the non-existent grain of the table’s felt absolutely fascinating.

But there was no time to puzzle over it.

Because it was finally his turn.

Six and four.

Ten.

He recalled the sequence again and thought.

Manipulate the cards all you want. But I’m betting that you don’t even remember what the next card is.

Lilianna had been using forced shuffling all evening. There was no way to remember every single one of the sets except the ones she deliberately did.

So, what he was going to do was make her sweat, really hard.

"Double down," Neville said.

Bryan’s eyebrow twitched.

Helena glanced sideways.

Julius unfolded one arm, then folded it again.

"Double down," Neville repeated, sliding a second stack of chips forward. "Face down."

Lilianna paused, her finger pressed a little harder against the deck. The corner of her mouth tightened a little.

Inside that flawless exterior, she was trying to recall what the next card was.

Because Neville’s double-down meant the card would be dealt face down. He wouldn’t look at it until the end.

Which meant she had to remember what she had stacked next in the deck. Because if she had arranged the sequence to give him a low card.

She thought it would be enough as long as she had a favorable card at the end, and Neville didn’t get a twenty-one.

But because of certain variables, she had lost track of what was supposed to come next.

Neville kept his face pleasant, mildly curious, like someone who was simply enjoying his evening.

Come on, he thought. Try to remember. I dare you.

But before Lilianna could fully remember what it was, Ciel’s voice derailed her thoughts back to reality.

"Hit," Ciel said, and every head turned his way.

Ciel had sixteen.

A queen and a six.

Everyone knew that from fifteen, the only answer should be a stand.

Because sixteen was dangerous to hit.

The odds of busting were brutal. Any card above a five would end him.

Neville looked at Ciel and asked quietly, "Are you sure?"

There was genuine surprise threaded through those three words, enough that Bryan leaned forward, and Helena’s finger lifted off her queen.

Ciel didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze swept the table, running a mental calculation.

Bryan had pulled an eight.

Helena’s visible card was a six.

Julius showed a four.

Neville’s was unknown, but the probability that it was low was high.

The declining trend was there if you looked for it, a pattern of lower values bleeding through the dealt hands.

Which meant—

"I’ll hit," Ciel repeated, firmer this time with his chin lifted.

Neville, who already knew what the next card was, was a little horrified for him.

And the card that was about to land in front of Ciel’s queen and six was a jack.

Twenty-six.

Bust.

Kid, Neville thought, maintaining his expression, you should have listened to me.

But out loud, all he said was, "Do what you want."

He delivered the line with a flat tone, unbothered. But there was a certain certainty in his tone that was quietly noted by Lilianna.

Then, Lilianna dealt.

The card hit the felt with a crisp snap.

Jack of spades.

The face card stared up at Ciel with blank indifference.

Twenty-six.

"NO—" Ciel’s voice cracked. He slumped back in his chair, both hands pressing against his face, in utter despair. "Why? Why didn’t I listen?"

"Because you have the impulse control of a golden retriever puppy," Bryan chided without looking up from his own cards.

"I had a feeling, okay? A feeling!" Ciel protested, peeling his hands away to glare at the offending jack. "The trend was declining. Statistically—"

"Statistics don’t care about your feelings," Julius said, entirely deadpan.

Ciel turned to Neville, his expression crumpling in agony. "You tried to warn me. You tried, and I didn’t listen. Neville, I’m sorry. I should have trusted you."

"It’s fine," Neville said, mildly shrugging indifferently. "It was your call."

"Thiago is going to kill me," Ciel muttered, sinking lower in his chair.

Thiago, who appeared behind him out of nowhere, said nonchalantly, "Good thing, you know."

Ciel flinched, probably imagining what punishment would befall him later.

Across the table, Lilianna maintained her smile. But behind her eyes, something cold and sharp twisted.

That slut was counting cards. Her inner voice said venomously.

If Neville had heard it, he probably would have blinked once, adjusted his glasses.

Then, he would say calmly: It wasn’t counting cards, mind you. I just have a better memory than everyone else in here.

Although he didn’t hear it, he felt a sharp and sudden prickle crawling up his forearms. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, with involuntary goosebumps.

A hand hovered near Neville’s shoulder. Grayson’s voice came from behind him, low and steady.

"What’s wrong?"