She didn’t stop—not with that mythic shard glinting at her from behind the pile. The rest of the dice shards were nearly forgotten now, and she swung with hyper-focus at the fissure she’d made, which seemed to grow wider by the second.

  Sweat stung her eyes, and her shoulders screamed, muscles she didn’t even know existed twinging with each swing. But she could endure this—she had to.

  Time lost all meaning. There was no light in the tunnel besides the shards and Pocket, and no miner passed her way. She still didn’t know why Rook had placed her here at all, or if her authorization card had made a mistake somehow by putting her in a mineshaft that was actually profitable.

  She lost track of how long she’d been swinging until her knees finally buckled and she dropped to the crumbling stone floor, panting. At first she considered staying there—it was just a quick rest, after all—then she tumbled the rest of the way into the dirt, lying on her back.

  The mythic dice shard was gone. She blinked, but from her vantage point on the ground, the light had shifted; in its place was a utility shard, its light tinted by the glow of hundreds of other colors.

  “Oh fuck me,” she moaned, then spotted Pocket trying to gobble up half her pile of shards. “Pocket!” She snatched the best shards and stuffed them in her pants pocket, then pulled her slime from the pile.

  He made puking noises.

  “What?” she snapped, holding him up. He wriggled free, then made a great show of trying to rub himself clean on her shirt.

  “Ew ew ew,” he said. “Blood everywhere. Humans are so messy—spilling juices everywhere.”

  “Don’t say it like you’re prim and proper—I just caught you trying to eat half my haul.”

  “I’m hungry,” he moaned, and Seven let her head thump back to the ground. She could barely move, and now this overgrown pile of excrement was demanding food of all things.

  The tunnel went silent. Then the light shifted. Pocket appeared on the top of her chest, peering down at her suspiciously.

  “Are you dead?” he asked. “I’m taking inventory in case I need to submit a claim. I think I might be entitled to your mattress.”

  “Slimes don’t need mattresses.”

  “I can trade it.”

  “And how are you going to get it out of my apartment?”

  “I—” He paused, then looked at the ceiling. “You know, that door is so small that I’m pretty sure whoever shoved your mattress in that room violated the laws of physics. If there’s a dice that lets me do that, it’s much more valuable than your mattress. Have I mentioned that you look dead?”

  “I’m not dead.”

  “You look dead.”

  Seven finally sat up slowly, forcing air back into her lungs. Her shirt stuck to her skin. Her hands were caked with blood, and her arms trembled with the effort of staying upright.

  But those were real dice shards behind her. An entire pile of them. Most were dim, sure. Cracked d6 shards, dulled d4s, and a chunk or two of ore that might have hoped to become a d8 if she hadn’t bludgeoned it to death with her pickaxe, but some pieces sparkled faintly in the pile, of obvious high quality.

  Three healing shards twinkled in the pile. Two blue mage shards. A full half-dice of a violet summoning d12 that made her heart skip a beat when she turned it carefully with an ordinary rock. She stared at it, her vision blurring, then laughed weakly.

  “I did that,” she whispered. “No gambling. No luck. Just me.”

  “Are you talking to rocks now?” Pocket asked. “Because I have to draw the line somewhere in this relationship.”

  Seven wasn’t listening. She reached for the shards in her pile, unable to stop. Surely one of those had to work. Had to respond to her touch. The pile was so enormous it seemed impossible, really. And the shard in Moore’s office had taken longer to fade than a normal dice. That was something, wasn’t it?

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  Her hands found the perfect surface of that violet d12 dice shard. It hummed faintly as she picked it up, and Seven held her breath, now on her belly in the mine shaft.

  The glow pulsed once.

  Twice.

  And faded from view.

  Seven swore faintly, then tried another one—this a combat shard that looked like it was part of a d20, perhaps.

  Another pulse.

  Another hum.

  Several seconds passed.

  Then the glow faded into nothing.

  It was all Seven could do not to chuck the thing into the wall. Her mind now crystal clear with annoyance, she shoved one of her gloves on and swept the lot into her bag. Better in Rook’s hands than drained, she supposed.

  “Are they supposed to do that?” Pocket asked. “Because I think—“

  “Pocket, not now.”

  “Sorry.” His voice was a tiny whisper bouncing off the walls. It would be a miracle if he didn’t spill her secret over breakfast, but then, she’d had to try something, hadn’t she?

  Still, she’d find a way back to what she’d lost. She’d find a way out for her and Emmet both, and most importantly, she’d find a way to make Rook pay. She could prove that she was more than this scandal that had destroyed her life, even if she did remain cursed. And, quite frankly, she could do plenty of damage outside of the mines with her curse; there was a display case back at HQ with her name on it. Soon Veilhome wouldn’t be the only place with a dice stability problem.

  She scooped her pile into her satchel and let herself smile.

  Naturally, that’s when everything went wrong.

  Thoughts of Jom Rook’s awful display on her mind, Seven was practically skipping to the lift ahead, bag in hand, when she heard the crunch of another set of footsteps behind her—and the shift in the air. Boots scuffed over stone, and there was the soft clink of mining gear that wasn’t hers. She frowned, still moving towards the lift. Had there been another side passage she hadn’t noticed? She’d sworn she was alone in the tunnel, but...

  She turned, swiping her card at the lift this time just to be sure. Mercifully, it chimed and blinked green, but she could barely look at it, because in front of her stood the largest man she’d seen since joining the company.

  It was like he’d been carved from the same rock she’d spent hours breaking away, his arms chiseled, his chest broad. But, well-muscled or not, his face was still pale from plenty of time underground, and his eyes had the same haunted look that Seven had seen in the other miners. He smiled at her, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

  “You get lucky today?” he asked. His voice was rough, like he’d been screaming recently. And given the disheveled state of his clothes, Seven wasn’t sure he’d had an easy day either. She tensed at his words, praying for the lift to move faster.

  “Lucky enough,” she said in what she hoped were casual words. “Won’t make up for the debt I’m in.”

  He chuckled darkly. “Never does—not without a little help.” He stepped closer, his boots crunching on the rocks. The lift whirred, the door clicked, and Seven lunged for the entrance.

  Pocket’s chirp of alarm was the only warning she got. The man caught her by the strap of her satchel and yanked her back, then shoved her into a nearby wall. She hit hard with a grunt, the breath leaving her lungs in one blow. Rocks bit into her back, bruising her where they touched, and her head cracked against the stone.

  Momentarily her world went black, and when she came to, her satchel was missing. The man rifled through it nearby, pocketing anything that glowed—and even some of the better-looking shards. He left only the chipped, dull shards, which were barely worth anything to begin with. He didn’t even look at her as he did it. Just hummed, like he was sorting apples at a fruit stand.

  When he was done, he tossed the bag back at her, then seemed to consider something else, his gaze turning predatory as it swept over her body.

  Shit, she thought. She lunged for her pickaxe right as the man hauled her to her feet, pressing her against the wall, licking his lips.

  “Don’t know why you’d bother with the mines at all,” he said, his tone far too pleased. “Your body’s nice enough—why not sell that instead?” He trailed a hand down towards her breast, but Seven’s pinned hands finally found what they were looking for—the dice at the edge of her pickaxe handle. She clicked it to SOS mode, and the pickaxe dropped.

  The man let go of her immediately and made his way to the lift like something had bitten him. “Consider yourself lucky today, girl,” he said as the lift doors closed behind him.

  Seven watched the lift take him up, then leaned against the wall, her breathing coming too fast, her hands and legs shaking—not out of just exhaustion, but genuine fear. She clicked the dice back out of SOS mode, grateful this time, at least, for LMC’s oversight. On this occasion, it might as well have saved her life.

  Pocket had gone uncharacteristically quiet, watching the lift with wide eyes. “How did you know he would leave you?” he asked.

  Seven took another moment to consider, then shrugged, wincing at the pain in her shoulders. “I had a hunch that corporate records anything after SOS mode is activated—I guess I was right.”

  “They’ll charge you again for that, you know.”

  “Oh, I know,” Seven said, wincing as she pressed a hand to the growing lump on the back of her head. Her voice shook audibly with each word. “But it was a much better price than what he was offering.”

  She made her way with shaking legs towards the lift when it returned, then slid her card. The lift took her up in silence this time, the squealing from earlier gone. And for the first time all day, she wished it would make a bit more noise.

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