The apartment was quiet. The streetlights outside cast bars of orange across the floor. Kaito sat at his desk. The wood was worn. The lamp was dim. He did not turn on the overhead light. He preferred the shadows. They were comfortable. They were honest. He opened his jacket. He reached into the inner pocket. The fabric was stiff. The cards were lined up in a specific holder. He pulled them out. He laid them on the desk. One by one. They made a soft sound when they touched the wood. Like rain on a window.
There were eleven cards. They lay in a semi-circle. They faced him. They were not objects. They were not tools. They were partners. They were guests. They were burdens. Kaito looked at the first card. The Ace of Spades. Kuro. The edges were worn. The ink was faded. Kaito had held this card the longest. Two years. It felt like an extension of his hand.
Kuro said: "You are counting."
Kaito said: "I am checking."
Kuro said: "We are not going anywhere."
Kaito said: "I know."
