The first thing Ryan did was nothing.
He picked up his two cards, looked at them, and put them back down on the felt. A nine of clubs and a four of hearts. Nothing. Not even close to nothing — actively bad. A hand that in any book or video he'd ever consumed about poker was described in one word: fold.
He already knew that much. Two cards that didn't match in number or suit, low value, no foundation to build anything from. The math was simple. The correct move was to push the cards forward and wait for the next hand.
He didn't fold.
Not because he had a plan. Because he needed to watch.
He matched the opening bet — small, the table minimum, the cost of staying in the hand and seeing what everyone else did. Marvin glanced at him. Said nothing.
Three cards came face up in the center of the table. This was the part Ryan knew as the flop — the shared cards that everyone could use, the first real information of the hand. A seven of diamonds, a seven of spades, a king of hearts.
