Jonas set the envelope on the booth’s ledge and slid away like a shadow. The man’s hand hovered over it, then closed, fingers careful, practiced. For a moment Jonas wondered if the man felt the warmth in the cards, if the hum was something only some could hear. The man smiled, and it was a thing without warmth.
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The buyer was on time. He stepped out from the shadow — a thin man in a long coat, eyes like closed keys. He didn’t speak. He merely watched, as if time itself needed approval. Jonas set the envelope on the booth’s ledge