"Cute," Jo says, one side of her mouth tucked in as she smirks, following him. She doesn't think about the fact that she'd be insulted if someone she knew said that. He doesn't know her. He doesn't know what she does or that beating people at poker is hardly the mark for misconceptions of her. "But I'm better on the other side of the table."

She's been cleaning out hunters two and three times her age since her mid-teens. Pool, poker, shooting games, you name it. Everything they did outside to make money between cases. Give a girl a bar to be born in, an inch of ever-laced biting impatience to get out, and she found her way into and over anything she got interested in that her mother said she shouldn't.

"I'd rather use my poker face with my cards rather than standing around waiting pretty on people who can't keep one to save their lives." She'd rather be back home hunting. She'd rather be playing the perfect sweet poker faces on whoever she needed to get by and getting what she needed to stay on the road, moving from case to case to case.