where : coyote casino, early in the night. status : closed for @ch3rrys
the fairlady catches every stray beam of light like it was built for worship, the kind of machine that makes a man stop and reconsider his priorities. coyote casino knows exactly what it's doing — dangling it like raw steak in front of the wolves. gunwoo rolls the raffle slip between his fingers, the way a man plays with a chip at the tables already certain the house is dealing in his favor. first win for the rodani prowlers in weeks, and it was his. there's a line he's crossing, thin and treacherous, racing dirty on street the crew wants to keep clean. tigress has made that clear, but gunwoo doesn't ease off. he knows what's at stake. his name belongs in the mouths of high-rollers and old dogs — the ones who bet on drivers like they bet on horses. but his name isn't the only one he's heard. cherry. he catches her in his periphery, jiha doesn’t need to stand in the spotlight to be a threat — she just needs to keep placing. and she does. top five, again and again, until he’s no longer just tracking the odds stacked against his own name, but hers, too. it’s a quiet kind of pride, the kind gunwoo holds close to the chest, tight, silent. his sister doesn't belong with those traitors. he steps into her line of sight, holding the raffle slip between two fingers like it's a royal flush. the grin comes easy, unrepentant, sibling arrogance. “ ready to lose to me again ? ”














