Lucky Mining Corp wasn’t hard to find; in fact, Seven was fairly certain it was bigger than the gambling quarters, the living quarters, and the shopping quarters of Luckville, combined. The entire complex sprawled out against the mountainside, where a few scraggly trees fought to grow in the treacherous conditions. LMC, it seemed, had made quick work of building the company town, the buildings ramshackle and in some cases, thrown together with a few scraps of wood and nails.

  The town was where the quick work had ended, apparently. Seven stood in a line that moved with all the urgency of a funeral procession, which was fitting, since she was pretty certain she was about to bury what remained of her dignity six feet under. Even Emmet had abandoned her, gone to work his own shift. There was a promise of meeting up later, but as she stood in the line of entirely unfamiliar people, it was hard not to feel a bit exposed. She’d wanted this, yes—craved it, even—but the bleak reality of the employment office was a bitter reminder of everything she’d lost.

  She tugged at the worn denim of her ratty company uniform—bought on steep discount from a sketchy stand near the entrance—and stepped forward one plodding foot at a time.

  She’d already been handed a nametag upon expressing interest in their open positions—and an employee number, to boot. Which, as it happened, was the only ‘name’ on her nametag. It glinted faintly in the neon lights overhead, its font far too cheerful for the rest of the dingy surroundings.

  Employee #1344134, it read. It was clearly a bad omen. Seven wasn’t sure what it was an omen of, but she couldn’t help but assign meaning to numbers, and the numbers on her name tag felt unlucky somehow. Like dice she wouldn’t have taken a bet on. Each number had a distinct shape, a flavor, almost a melody, and most importantly, she could usually tell if they were lucky on sight.

  Her name tag was already bent and stained with copper, so its last owner certainly hadn’t been lucky. How LMC managed to print so many of the damn things and still had to reuse them was anyone’s guess; Seven had spotted boxes of the tags several heads high stacked in the corner near the too-cheerful receptionist in the front.

  She couldn’t help but think of Emmet’s words the night before, and of his unease this morning. He was letting her help, perhaps, but he wasn’t thrilled with it. And judging from the look of the place, she couldn’t blame him. Even Veilhome’s sketchiest areas had nothing on LMC’s employment office.

  Neon signs flickered over her head, flashing erratically: Lucky Mining Corp, they read. Your luck is our profit! The exclamation point blinked on and off, and Seven looked away from it, a migraine threatening. For a company that specialized in mining dice, they sure had a hard time keeping the lights on. They probably hadn’t changed the low-level dice in the signs in years. Or decades, maybe.

  Sickly green light cast the other miners in pallid colors as they shuffled towards the line of windowed counters in the front of the warehouse. Behind thin walls, the sound of machinery whirred, something being crushed in the giant turning gears—dice gems, maybe. Possibly dreams. Maybe her will to live, at this point.

  The miners barely looked at her. Many were old enough to be her father, and most were men. Some muttered to themselves, while others idly rolled gritty dice between their fingers or fanned cards in their hands. Seven couldn’t help but stare, something like an itch developing in the back of her mind. Maybe she hadn’t hit rock bottom quite yet. Maybe if she could convince the men to play a game, she could—

  No, she told herself, forcing her eyes back to the front. They wouldn’t be here if they had anything left to lose. Certainly that was the only reason she was here. Nothing to lose, everything to win, she thought, inching forward. She had to keep her mind on the actual game—finding anything and everything she could on Rook’s crooked operation. Every safety violation was a clue she could use. Every clause they locked her down with, another piece of evidence. Moore and his caution could roll snake eyes—assuming she wasn’t caught first. She gripped her employment contract and tried to still trembling fingers as one of the workers waved her over to their station.

  The woman behind the glass was smiling so widely it looked painful, but she barely looked at Seven at all. “Welcome to Lucky Mining Corp!” she chirped, her voice trembling like it was just on the edge of cracking. “It’s your lucky day!”

  “I—it is?”

  “No!” The woman cackled a bit hysterically and snatched Seven’s employment contract from her hands, slamming a series of stamps into it with blistering speed. She said nothing about Seven’s gloved hand—or her disheveled appearance. Well. That was one point in LMC’s favor, at least. “That’s just something we say around here. Now, let’s sort out a few things. Name?”

  Seven hesitated, wondering if she should give a fake name. Seven wasn’t exactly a common name, but it was pedestrian enough for a nickname, especially in Veilhome. And, well, it wasn’t her full name, anyway. Something in her couldn’t bear to part with it, and the syllables tumbled from her lips.

  “Seven.”

  “Lucky!”

  “Not really.”

  “Of course it’s not! Next—any dice on your person?”

  Seven absently patted her chest, where her dice bag should have been. She’d long wondered what it would be like to wear one—to know that the dice in her possession weren’t living on borrowed time. In fact, she’d once tried to stuff dice in a bag, rolling them from the bag to try to get around her problem. She’d expected a solution, but they’d drained eventually anyway. Even the gloves were just a precaution to try to insulate her power from ruining every dice that came near her. Swallowing, she finally shook her head. “None.”

  “Excellent! I hate having to call security, you know. Only authorized dice allowed at Lucky Mining Corp! But don’t worry—we’ll give you everything you need to succeed.”

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  Doubtful, Seven thought, unnerved by the woman’s charm. But she kept her mouth shut. At least that aspect of her royal training would serve her well. And quite frankly, she was just too tired to care.

  “Any injuries?”

  Seven shook her head, grateful that her clothes hid her bandaged side.

  “Health problems?”

  Mental or physical? She wondered. “No.”

  “Legal obligations?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Family?”

  “Dead.”

  The woman didn’t even blink.

  “Friends?”

  “None.”

  “Perfect!”

  With each answer, she slammed a stamp onto Seven’s paper with such force that it rattled the glass nearby. Seven itched to snatch it back from the woman. What was she doing? Surely there was a better way to prover her innocence than this.

  But Rook’s thumbprint was all over the disgusting building she stood in. He was there in every corner, in every garish sign, in every tired miner. She’d played him for years, watching his strategy across the board. She knew him, for all she’d been betrayed by him. And something about LMC screamed Rook, even if he was nowhere to be found.

  Besides that, her funds were practically nonexistent, and there was Emmet to think about. He’d been sent here to help her, even if he’d volunteered for the job from Moore without any kind of information about it. He’s trapped here because of me, she thought. And, while she’d rarely had to think about anyone’s bad luck but her own, here she felt personally responsible for Emmet’s.

  But as a few would-be miners were hauled away screaming for possessing unauthorized dice, Seven still found herself hesitating. Perhaps it was the only shred of good sense she had left.

  She was seconds away from snatching back the contract to think it over when the woman behind the counter returned with a stack of papers far larger than the few Seven had handed her—easily an inch tall.

  “What’s all this?” she asked. “I only—”

  “Standard forty-seven-year employment contract,” the woman explained, her smile not wavering an inch. She rifled through the pile like she were discussing the weather. “Company housing deducted from wages, mandatory equipment rental fees, insurance for your insurance, a few small administrative fees for the privilege of working with us. Standard fare! Very fair!”

  “This isn’t fair,” Seven snapped. “It’s predatory.”

  The woman’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second.

  “Look, are you going to sign it, or what, kid?”

  Seven hesitated, looking at the stack of papers. The woman rolled a battered stamp towards her across the pile of papers where it settled, the numbers upside down, but familiar: #1344134. Her employee number. Or would be, anyway, if she was willing to sign the papers.

  It was obviously a scam. She didn’t need to have spent years watching scheming courtiers to figure that out. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she needed this job. She needed to figure out a way to Rook, and going through his sick system was the fastest way.

  “Doesn’t forty-seven years seem...lengthy to you?” she tried, her hand hovering over the stamp. The woman tilted her head, smiling wider.

  “How generous of you to point out! We’re investing in your future, of course!” The grin got wider, which should have been physically impossible. “Job security, bonuses, cost-of-living adjustments—no more worrying about unemployment when you’re locked into our generous agreement. I mean, we wouldn’t want family struggling, now would we?” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “And besides,” she added, her voice dropping, “I’ve got a good feeling about you. You’ve got the face of a hard worker. Why, with that kind of attitude, you’ll be out of here in no time. As little as thirty years, even!”

  Seven was glad she hadn’t had time for lunch, because if she had, she was probably about to be sick. Still, what choice did she have? There’s no way out, Emmet had warned this morning. But there was no way out for him either if she didn’t help. And even if she couldn’t find any damning evidence against Rook, she could certainly do a lot of damage to his profit margin.

  Smiling faintly at the idea, Seven reached for the stamp before she could think about it further and slammed it into the pile of papers before letting it tumble towards the woman again.

  “Perfect!” her new owner squealed—or, well, Seven was pretty sure she was basically owned at this point. She shoved the pile of papers at Seven, who caught them before they could tumble onto the dusty ground, and jerked her head towards a waiting area where many of Seven’s coworkers were gathered, waiting for something. “Your handler will meet you over there. We’re happy to have you at Lucky Mining Corp, and remember—lucky hands, lucky rocks!”

  “Lucky—”

  But Seven couldn’t even finish her sentence before a dice-projector spun up in the back of the room, flashing onto what had once been a white wall, perhaps. It flickered faintly, the image garbled and dim. But what followed next was worse.

  The group of sullen miners raised their hands towards the dingy ceiling, pained smiles on their faces, and wiggled them, their hips joining in tandem in a macabre dance. She spun back to the woman at the counter, who made a little shooing motion with her hands, as if to urge Seven to join them.

  “If you think I’m going to do that, then you’re—”

  “Completely legally justified to do so!” the woman finished, beaming. “Page 268 of your employment contract. Nothing is finer than fine print!”

  Seven gripped the employment contract until it hurt, then marched over to the group, nearly bowling over several of the clueless miners in her wake. How dare this company assume she’d be willing to give up her dignity to—

  Well, you just did, didn’t you? She thought, and something in her deflated. She’d had to. There’d been no choice. And now, Lucky Mining Corp as good as owned her—royal or not.

  Seven begrudgingly lifted her hands into the air, but paused as the door in the back opened and someone appeared—a rotund, aggressively cheerful man in a suit that was several sizes too small for him. His jacket was littered with so many pins that she couldn’t even tell what color it was anymore, and his hair was slicked back and perfectly coifed. He checked a clipboard, then looked right at Seven, who froze, hands in midair. He barreled his way through the crowd, nearly knocking over several smaller miners, and slung a heavy arm around Seven’s shoulders.

  “I love meeting new members of the family!” he said, dragging her towards the door he’d emerged from. “And I love it more when they’re already showing enthusiasm for the job. Who knows—maybe you’ll be my first recruit to make it out alive. The name’s Jom Rook, Vice President and CFO, and I’ll be your handler here at Lucky Mining Corporation.”

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