COVENANT BASE 7:00 PM
The main room smelled like fried plantains and bad decisions.
A circular table had been dragged to the center of the space, its surface scarred from years of use—coffee rings, knife marks, and what looked suspiciously like a scorch stain in the shape of a hand. Folding chairs surrounded it, mismatched, creaking under the weight of Vanguards who had survived worse things than card games.
David sat between Tessy and Ivie, nursing a bottle of dubic malt that someone had pressed into his hand. His body was still catching up to him—the exhaustion from Ekpoma, the six Communions, the stolen sleep in the back of Joy's SUV. But the malt helped. The company helped more.
"So," he said, looking around the table. "What exactly are we playing?"
"Whot," Tessy said, shuffling a deck of cards with one hand. Her left arm—the regenerated one—flexed experimentally, still pink and new, still sensitive. "You know it?"
"I've played. Badly."
"Good. You'll fit right in."
Eloghosa leaned back in his chair, his pink doves perched on the back of it like tiny, judgmental angels. "I haven't lost a game in three years."
"You haven't played in three years," Tessy countered.
"Irrelevant. The streak is intact."
"The streak is imaginary."
"Oh brother, why are you here." He replied
Ivie, seated to David's right, said nothing. She was cleaning her combat knife with a cloth, the blade catching the fluorescent light. She had not confirmed whether she was playing.
David decided not to ask.
7:15 PM
The table filled slowly.
Seat. Player Expression
North. Tessy Deadly. Focused. Bare feet tapping.
South. Eloghosa Smug. Doves on his shoulders.
East. David Tired. Slightly terrified.
West. Joy Neutral. Professional. Secretly competitive.
Between rounds. Ivie Sitting nearby. Knife still out. "Watching."
Observing. Jaron Leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Smiling.
Observing. Ezra Standing behind Jaron. Massive. Silent. Holding a cup of tea that looked comically small in his hands.
On a couch. Amaka Bandaged. Recovering. Yelling advice no one asked for.
"Where are Praise and Jonathan?" David asked.
"Still in Abuja," Eloghosa said, his voice softer for a moment. "They'll be back soon Jaron gave them a month's leave ."
The table was quiet.
Then Tessy slapped the deck down.
"Rules," she said. "Standard Whot. No Gifts. No Faith reinforcement. No reading cards through your doves, Eloghosa."
"I would never."
"You would and you have and you will."
"...fair."
"Winner stays. Loser rotates." Tessy looked at Ivie. "You in?"
Ivie considered her knife. Considered the table. Considered the bottle of malt in David's hand.
"One game," she said. "If someone annoys me, I'm leaving."
"That's everyone," Eloghosa said.
"Then everyone should be on their best behavior."
She sheathed her knife and pulled up a chair.
David felt the temperature of the room drop several degrees.
7:20 PM
Tessy dealt.
Cards slapped the table. David picked up his hand—seven cards, mismatched symbols, the familiar Whot chaos. He sorted them slowly, his green aura flickering unconsciously.
"David." Jaron's voice from across the room. "No Faith."
"Sorry."
The aura died.
"Begin," Tessy said.
Eloghosa led with a General Market.
The table groaned.
"First hand?" Joy protested. "Already?"
"Asserting dominance," Eloghosa said.
"Being annoying," Tessy corrected.
She slapped down a General Market of her own, changing the symbol to circles.
"That's not—" Eloghosa started.
"It's legal. Read the rules."
"I wrote the rules."
"Then you should have written them better."
David played a two of circles. He had no idea what he was doing. The two felt safe.
"David," Eloghosa said, "why did you play that?"
"It was a circle."
"It's a two. You're supposed to—"
"Let him play," Tessy cut in. "He's learning."
"He's losing."
"Same thing."
7:30 PM
Ivie won the first hand.
No one saw it coming. She had played quietly, steadily, her face expressionless, her cards held close to her chest. When she slapped down her final card—a Keep—the table went silent.
"Ivie," Eloghosa said. "You've played before."
"I've watched."
"You can't win by watching."
"Apparently you can."
She stood, collected her winnings—a small pile of sweets that Joy had contributed as stakes—and walked back to her seat by the wall.
"That's my one game," she said.
"You said one game if someone annoyed you."
"No one annoyed me." She unsheathed her knife. "This time."
David realized he was scared of Ivie.
He also realized he respected her deeply.
7:45 PM
The game narrowed.
Joy had been eliminated—not through poor play, but through sheer bad luck. Three consecutive Pick threes had left her with a hand full of cards she couldn't play, and she had folded with a grace that suggested she was used to losing to Vanguards with too much time on their hands.
Amaka had shouted herself hoarse from the couch and fallen asleep.
Jaron had refilled his tea twice.
Ezra had not moved.
That left Tessy, Eloghosa, and David.
"David," Tessy said, "you're the rookie. Play your cards."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
He played a six of stars.
Eloghosa's smile flickered.
"That's... actually a good move."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means you're not as stupid as you look."
"Thanks."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"Then why did you say it like one?"
Eloghosa glared. Tessy laughed—a real laugh, short and sharp, like a bark.
"I like him," she said.
"You like everyone who annoys me."
"That's most people."
8:00 PM
Down to two.
Eloghosa and Tessy.
David had been eliminated three hands ago—not through any fault of his own, but because Eloghosa had targeted him mercilessly, using every trick in the book to force him into bad plays. David had taken it in stride, learning as he lost, watching the way Tessy held her cards, the way Eloghosa's doves tracked the table.
Now he sat beside Ivie, nursing a second malt, watching the finals.
"He's going to cheat," David said.
"He always cheats," Ivie replied.
"And Tessy?"
"Tessy always catches him."
The cards were down to three each.
Eloghosa played a star. Tessy played a star. Eloghosa played a star. The symbol held.
"You're stalling," Tessy said.
"I'm strategizing."
"You're stalling."
She played a Hold On.
Eloghosa's eye twitched.
A Hold On forced the next player to skip their turn. Eloghosa watched as Tessy played her final card—a fourteen of star—and declared victory.
"Last card checkup.," she said, slapping the card down with finality.
The table erupted.
Amaka woke up and cheered. Joy applauded. Jaron raised his teacup in salute. Even Ezra's massive frame seemed to shift—not quite a nod, not quite approval, but something close.
Eloghosa stared at Tessy's final card.
"You held that since the first hand."
"I did."
"You knew you would win."
"I knew."
"That's not luck. That's..."
"Skill?"
"Smugness."
"Same thing."
She stood, stretched, her silver chains jingling.
"I'm hungry. Who's buying dinner?"
Everyone looked at Eloghosa.
"Fine," he said, standing. "But I'm picking the restaurant."
"As long as they have meat," Tessy said.
"They have meat."
"Good."
8:15 PM
The table cleared.
Cards were gathered. Chairs pushed in. The smell of fried plantains faded, replaced by the anticipation of whatever restaurant Eloghosa had chosen.
David stayed behind, staring at the empty table.
Ivie sat beside him.
"You're thinking," she said.
"Oh yeah."
"About Ekpoma."
He didn't answer.
"Scotto is still out there," Ivie said. "Healing. Learning. Growing. That's what he does."
"I know."
"You also landed six Communions."
"I know that too."
"Do you know what that means?"
David looked at her.
"It means you're not a rookie anymore," she said. "Not really. You're still inexperienced. Still ignorant. Still prone to making mistakes."
"Thanks."
"But you're not weak. There's a difference."
She stood.
"Come on. Eloghosa's buying. Don't let him choose something expensive just to punish us."
David followed.
Behind them, the empty table waited.
Above them, a pink dove watched from the rafters.
And somewhere beneath Ekpoma, in the darkness between darknesses, Scotto's third eye opened.
He was still healing.
But he was still learning.