A Penny for Your Thoughts

It caught the lamplight in a cold flare before he brought it down. Once. Twice. A third time, hard enough for the table beneath to crack. The sound wasn’t just impact — it was shattering bone, scattering glass, bracelets clattering to the floor like coins in an overturned jar. Madame Calvera’s eyes rolled back, her mouth open in a sound that never made it past her throat. The red silk scarf around her shoulders slipped to the floor, soaking through before it could finish uncoiling. The incense kept burning. Sweet smoke turned thick, cloying, as if the air itself recoiled. Rook’s breathing was louder than the creak of the chair as he stepped back. He crouched beside her, knees popping. There was still heat in her palm, the faint tremor of a pulse fading into silence. He pressed the penny into her hand without looking at her face, closing her fingers around it like a parent tucking a child in for the night. For a moment, he lingered — adjusting the curl of her fingers, aligning them neatly, precise. Then he straightened, brushing his knuckles on his coat. He left the crystal ball where it lay — a shattered moon at the center of a collapsed universe. The doorbell chimed softly as he stepped out into the rain.