The ground didn't feel real.
Bran hit it hard—but the impact came muted, like his body had already decided it wasn't worth reacting anymore.
Sound returned in fragments.
A faint hum.
The scrape of something against concrete.
The soft, rhythmic click of metal.
His vision followed.
Blurred.
Unstable.
A shape moved in front of him.
Not rushing.
Not cautious.
Casual.
"…That's a rough landing."
The voice carried a strange ease to it—light, almost amused, like this was nothing more than an unexpected entertainment.
Bran tried to push himself up.
His arm trembled.
Collapsed.
"…Stay down."
Not a command.
Not forceful.
Just… correct.
And his body obeyed.
The man stepped closer.
Well-dressed.
Too clean for this part of the city.
His boots made soft, deliberate sounds against the ground—controlled, unhurried. The kind of movement that came from someone who had never needed to rush for anything in his life.
A coin flipped between his fingers.
Up.
Down.
Caught.
Again.
"…You dropped in right after I lost everything," he said lightly.
The coin flipped again.
"…Bad night for me."
Catch.
"…Worse night for you."
Bran's vision sharpened for a fraction of a second.
Enough to see the man clearly.
Sharp features.
Relaxed posture.
Eyes that didn't match the rest of him.
They weren't amused.
They were calculating.
"…Who…"
The word barely formed.
The man crouched.
Not hurried.
Not careful.
Just… interested.
"…Names cost extra," he said with a faint smile.
The coin stopped flipping.
For the first time.
His gaze settled fully on Bran.
And then—
It changed.
Subtly.
But completely.
"…Oh."
That single sound carried weight.
Interest.
Recognition.
Greed.
"…Now that's interesting."
He leaned in slightly.
Close enough to feel.
Not Bran's injuries.
Not his condition.
Something else.
"…You're barely conscious…"
A pause.
"…but your core's still active."
Bran's brow twitched slightly.
He didn't understand.
But the man did.
Completely.
"…That kind of stability…"
The gambler exhaled slowly, almost impressed.
"…you're not trained."
Another pause.
"…which means you're raw."
The word lingered.
Not as an insult.
As value.
Bran tried to move again.
His fingers barely shifted.
His body refused.
"…Don't…"
The word came out broken.
The gambler chuckled softly.
Not mocking.
Enjoying.
"…Relax."
He stood up.
Smooth.
Unbothered.
"…If I wanted you dead…"
A glance down.
"…you wouldn't be trying to talk."
That was true.
Bran knew it.
Even in this state—
He knew it.
The gambler stepped back, giving him just enough space to observe properly.
Like a buyer inspecting goods.
"…No external support…"
"…no structured control…"
"…and still alive after that kind of damage…"
He tilted his head slightly.
"…you're expensive."
Bran's eyes narrowed faintly.
"…I said…"
His breath hitched.
"…I'm not…"
"For sale?"
The gambler finished it for him.
A small smile forming.
"…That's the thing."
He flicked the coin into the air.
Higher this time.
Let it spin.
Watched it fall.
Caught it.
"…You don't decide that anymore."
A faint pulse spread from him.
Not explosive.
Not loud.
But controlled.
Refined.
Bran felt it.
Even through the haze.
"…Another one…"
The gambler's smile widened just slightly.
"…Not like the ones you fought."
A pause.
"…I don't waste energy."
He reached into his coat.
Pulled out a small device.
Compact.
Cold.
"…I invest."
Bran's instincts screamed.
Too late.
A sharp pulse.
Not pain.
Interruption.
His body locked.
What little control he had—
Gone.
"…Good."
The gambler crouched again.
Closer now.
"…Stay like that."
His voice dropped slightly.
Not for intimidation.
For clarity.
"…You're going to make me a lot of money."
Bran's vision darkened.
"…Lina…"
The name slipped out.
Barely sound.
Barely thought.
The gambler paused.
Just for a moment.
"…Ah…"
A faint smirk.
"…so there's a reason."
He stood again.
"…Even better."
He turned away.
Already done.
Already decided.
"…Let's see who pays the most."
The last thing Bran heard—
Was the soft, satisfied sound of a coin flipping through the air.
And then—
Darkness.