3. Finder’s Keepers

The low hum of the diner's buzz faded, replaced by the steady rumble of familiar voices. Little Red looked up, watching as her crew filed through the doors one by one, each with a presence that seemed to pull the shadows in their wake. Big Red entered first, his broad shoulders blocking out the evening light for a moment. His gaze swept the room like a protective wave, finally settling on her with a nod.

Behind him, Little John - ironically named, given his brawler’s build - moved with a restrained strength, as if the world itself were a fragile thing that might shatter underfoot. Molly followed, her casual stride masking an alertness that never seemed to waver. She scanned the room, reading every face in a heartbeat. Rando was last, his habitual smirk in place, but beneath it, his eyes were sharp, calculating. Each of them brought something different to the table, like pieces of a puzzle that only fully clicked when they were together.

They were the council that ran the crew, and Little Red could sense their restlessness - the barely contained urge to be back on the road, out in the unknown where they thrived. She straightened, bracing for the inevitable question.

Big Red reached her in a few strides, his voice a low rumble that carried authority and a quiet affection. “You ready, sis?”

Instead of answering, she tilted her head toward the flatscreen where the news segment had begun to replay, flashing through the familiar but unsettling images of the latest incursion.

Big Red watched in silence for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head. “We can’t do anything about that, and you know it. Says the occurrence is near Portland - that’s on the other side of the country. Before you say anything, I know.” He held up a hand, cutting her off before she could argue. “But we’ve got a contract, remember? Someone’s paying us big money to be the first on-site and secure first claim on this new incursion.”

Little Red frowned, her shoulders dropping slightly. “You got it, bro. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Some people you just don’t want to work for, you know?”

Big Red’s eyes darkened, a faint scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. “And there are some people you don’t want to piss off either,” he countered, his tone as sharp as a blade.

She raised her hands in a show of surrender, though a hint of defiance glinted in her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. And until we’re out from under Mr. Nobody’s thumb, we’re stuck playing nice. The only way out is to pay off the debt. I get it.”

Big Red’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice low. “Hey, remember - it’s my debt. You didn’t have to take it on. I could’ve handled it. Eventually.”

“Oh, sure, Mr. Tough Guy,” she teased, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “I know you don’t need your little sister bailing you out of trouble. But I wouldn’t miss this ride for anything.”

Big Red chuckled, his laughter a warm rumble that chased away the tension. He turned to the waitress, who was eyeing their table from behind the counter, her cheeks pink. “Excuse me, miss? Could we get a couple pies to go, and a few liters of coffee?” He reached into his jacket and withdrew a spread of hundred-dollar bills, laying them out with a practiced ease that made the waitress’s eyes widen.

She took in the sight of the cash, then looked back at him with a flustered smile. Her blush deepened as their eyes met, and she hastily gathered up the money. “Anything for you, hunky,” she mumbled, almost inaudible, before hurrying back to the kitchen.

Little Red smirked, nudging her brother. “Smooth, bro. Is there anywhere we can go without you making eyes at every lady in sight?”

Big Red shrugged innocently. “What do you mean? I just looked at her.”

“Sure, you did,” she shot back, rolling her eyes.

With the waitress off to gather their order, Little Red wandered over to an empty booth where someone had left an abandoned pie, a half-empty cup of coffee, and a stack of cash. As she approached, the first waitress swept in, her hands quick as she cleared the dishes and pocketed the bills, flashing a grin before scurrying off.

Once seated, Little Red reached for a napkin to wipe away a sticky spot on the table, but something caught her eye - a few playing cards, left behind, half-buried beneath the napkin. She pulled them out, inspecting them with a frown.

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Big Red slid into the booth across from her, his gaze curious as he watched her turn the cards over. “What are those?” he asked, gesturing at the cards with a nod as the rest of the crew crowded around, each face reflecting a mix of interest and unease.

She shook her head, scrutinizing each card. The designs were intricate, almost hypnotic, with strange symbols woven into the images. Their names were etched in a finely drawn hand. “The Hands of Fate, the Hidden, and the Lady in White,” she murmured, reading the names aloud as she placed the cards on the table in a neat row.

Little John’s eyes sparkled with interest, and his hand darted out instinctively. “Hey, aren’t those from that collector’s card game?” he asked, his voice rising with excitement. “The one with all the magic, and the creature summoning?”

But before he could reach the cards, Molly’s hand shot out, swatting his away. “Maybe don’t go putting your greasy mitts all over them,” she teased, arching a brow. “What if they’re worth something?”

Little John glanced at his hands, frowning as he noticed the faint smear of black grease staining his fingers. He withdrew his hand, mumbling sheepishly, “Good point.” He leaned forward instead, inspecting the cards from a safe distance.

Molly shot him an innocent smile, then stuck her tongue out, a mischievous glint in her eye. With a laugh, Little John grabbed her, pulling her close as she squirmed in mock protest. After a few playful shoves, she settled against his shoulder, both of them peering down at the cards with renewed fascination.

The tension rippled back into the room as, suddenly, a pair of dice tumbled across the table. The dice rolled over the cards with an eerie precision, snapping to a stop right in front of Little Red. The crew watched, transfixed, as the dice stilled, each die showing a single, ominous pip. Snake eyes.

A chill ran down Little Red’s spine, an eerie premonition that seemed to settle right between her shoulder blades. She glanced down at the pair of dice still on the table. It’s just a couple of weird dice, she told herself, trying to shake off the sensation. But the nagging unease wouldn’t let go.

“Are those new?” she asked, turning her gaze to Rando, who had thrown them in the first place.

He grinned, but there was something off about it, a glint of excitement barely restrained. “Yup, just found them.” He leaned in, lowering his voice slightly. “You think they’re related to the cards?”

Little John shook his head, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. “Nah, from what I remember, it’s just a card game. No dice involved.” He watched as Little Red picked them up, turning them over in her fingers.

The dice felt strange, almost alive. They were cold, smooth - unnaturally so, as if carved from liquid stone. She felt her fingers curl instinctively around their weight, a natural grip, like they were crafted for her hands alone. She was about to toss them back to Rando, but a strange urge made her pause. Without another word, she slipped them into her pocket alongside the cards.

“Hey, finders keepers!” Rando protested, his smirk replaced by a scowl.

“Possession is nine-tenths,” she shot back, flashing him a mischievous grin.

“Dammit, tell her I call-”

“Dibs!” She cut him off, enjoying the flare of frustration in his eyes as she claimed them.

“Sonofabitch!” he muttered, throwing his hands up.

“Watch your mouth,” Molly interjected smoothly, her voice sweet but edged. “There are ladies present.”

“Where?” Little John looked around with a feigned innocence that earned him a swift jab in the ribs from Molly’s elbow. “Ouch!” he exclaimed, rubbing his side, but he was grinning all the same.

Big Red’s laughter joined the low hum of the diner, warming the tense atmosphere. “Alright, everyone, enough playtime. Time to get going.” His eyes sparkled with a quiet excitement, a readiness to hit the road.

They rose, gathering their gear. Big Red lingered by the counter just long enough to exchange a lingering look with the waitress as she brought out their pies and coffee. Her cheeks flushed as he handed over a few hundred-dollar bills. “Keep the change,” he said, his gaze holding hers a moment too long before he turned to join the others.

Little Red chuckled softly as she watched the waitress standing there, helplessly gazing after her brother, her face still pink, as she burned holes in the back of her brother’s jeans.

Poor girl, she thought with a shake of her head. Big Red had no clue the effect he had on women.

Once outside, the crew mounted their bikes. Little Red felt a satisfying rumble under her as her bike roared to life, the familiar vibrations grounding her, dulling the residual chill that clung to her from the diner. She gave the signal, and with Rando alongside her in the lead, they took off, merging smoothly into the sparse late-night traffic, their headlights cutting through the thickening dark as they headed North.

But as they rode, Little Red felt it - a restless, gnawing sensation creeping up the back of her neck, a distant but insistent voice tugging at the edges of her mind. She gritted her teeth, trying to block it out, but the further they rode, the louder it grew. She tried veering slightly, turning away from whatever seemed to be calling her. The voices only grew louder, reacting each time she resisted. And so she took the next opportunity to turn the crew around.

Her brother had long since stopped questioning the strange instincts that guided her. He trusted her lead, even when he didn’t understand. And tonight, despite their contracted destination lying in the opposite direction- the voices were urging her otherwise, so they rode South - toward the unknown, and away from the payout that would chip away at the debt they all felt hanging over them.