The Deck

Franklin laid his head back against the sterile pillow, half the soldier he’d used to be, and thrice as lonely. Shima didn’t look at him, sitting with her head in her hands on a chair never meant to hold the weight of a grieving Spartan. They’d played the game the only way they knew, used every trick in the book, and they’d won, hadn’t they? Their hand had been bad, that was all it was, the deck itself corrupted. It’d just been luck, or maybe a lack of it. 
“We’re the Spades remember.” She murmured quietly. “All the rotten luck in the galaxy.”