You slippery bastard, she does not say though the amused glimmer of it is in the flash of Fitcher's eye and the arch of her eyebrow. She squares the reassembled deck with a brisk rap on the table, then begins shuffling.

"Concerned your world ending employers might catch up with you?"

The cards arc and bow under her agile fingers, well worn suites flashing in the room's low lamplight.