Pawndex

A new card. A cat’s paw print, delicate as a fern.

Your turn, he didn’t say. But Elias heard it, in the silence between heartbeats.

He ran to the front door. Locked. The windows were steel-shuttered. He was a pawnbroker—he’d built this cage himself. He grabbed the Pawndex, meaning to smash it. His fingers brushed the crank.

The Pawndex began to hum. The crank turned backward, one last time.

The air grew cold. The shadows in the corners deepened. The dog and the cat from the first two cards rose and moved to the front of the pack, flanking a space where no creature stood.