"Call," the gruff voice next to me said and the man himself tossed in his handful of chips to the center of the green velvet table. I narrowed my eyes in examination of him, furthering the study I'd been conducting all evening. He tapped the cards in his hands with a finger. Once, twice. There it was.

"Call," I echoed, throwing my lot in with his. Then I laid my cards on the table. Straight flush. He cursed colorfully and threw his cards down as well. I leaned over to take a look at them. Nothing. He had nothing. Nor did anyone else.

I scooped the chips in the center into a pile and pulled them toward me, stashing them away on my side of the table as I leaned back and took a puff from my cigar and the dealer dealt again.

I'd been in Australia for a couple of months now. It wasn't the wild land which my father had claimed it to be when he'd visited a few decades ago. The cities looked much the same as they did in England. The accent was slightly different and the weather was far hotter but other than that, one could convince oneself that Melbourne was just another crowded English city. In fact, it was.

"Thompson," one of the men at the table exclaimed as a newcomer strode over through the haze of smoke from half a dozen cigars to join us. "You made it."

"Hardly. With all those Sheilas screaming in the streets. I barely made it through without losing my mind from the noise."

"Reckless bunch, that," another man tsked.

I frowned at them. Women had begun protesting for Parliamentary voting rights in Melbourne and, for whatever reason, that had put every man in the vicinity on edge. I couldn't attend a poker game anymore without hearing some derogatory drivel about why women shouldn't have the same rights as men. I'd expressed my disagreement on every occasion but still they spoke their minds when the topic came up. And Thompson was the worst. It wouldn't surprise me if he were late because he'd gotten into a spat with some of the protestors on his way here. I'd seen him do it before.

To top it all off, he was a cheater. He always kept cards in his pocket to switch out under the table. He was skilled at hiding it. I hadn't noticed before. It had taken me until last night to see it. But tonight I would make sure he never did it again.

"Mr. Lewis?" Someone asked and I looked up to find one of the waiters holding a brown package in front of me. "This came for you."

I took it with a nod and set it in front of me, downing my scotch before I began ripping at the paper and the men began to deal another round. I'd changed my name when I'd arrived in the port. I didn't think news of the disgraced English crime lord Keene family had reached quite as far as Australia, I wasn't so arrogant as to believe that, but if there was anything I'd learned from my nearly thirty years of experience in espionage, it was always better to hide your identity if who you were was someone who wouldn't be welcomed. I wasn't sure if I would have been welcomed or not. Australia was, after all, originally an English penal colony. It wasn't as if anyone here had ancestors with less blood on their hands than mine. Still, I preferred not to take chances.

"A gift from your Shiela back home, mate?" Thompson asked with a toothy grin, earning a raucous bit of laughter from the men around the table as he leaned over and nudged me with one boney elbow. I looked up at him, narrowing my gaze, and his laughter fell flat at once as he returned to sipping his whiskey, quietly.

In truth, I wasn't sure who had sent me the package but the fact that it had arrived at all made me wary. I'd changed my name, not told anyone where I was going. My father had connections all over the world but could he have truly found me here at the end of it?

There was no return address. I ripped it open and held it up. A newspaper fell out of the sleeve, landing on the table with a dull thud. It was a London edition, dated a little over a month ago. There were no notes in the margins, nothing highlighted or torn away. It was just a simple newspaper. Why would someone send me a newspaper?

I opened it, examining each page for some article that might matter to me, that might explain why this had been sent to me.

"Lewis? Are you in or out?" One of the men asked, gesturing impatiently at the card game spread before him.

"Wait," I snapped and they fell silent.

I continued to peruse the pages of the newspaper, set on my task. Then I found it. Four pages in.

Local Merchant William Porter, of London, is happy to announce the engagement of his daughter, Charlotte Porter, to Alexander Langley, son of Edward and Leah Langley, also of London. Wedding date forthcoming.

My grip on the newspaper tightened, my knuckles turning white.

"Lewis?"

Abruptly, I folded up the paper and stuffed it into my jacket pocket. Then I pushed up from the table and stormed away from it, despite the angry cries at my back about the redealing. With nowhere else to go, I headed outside.

Despite the lack of return address, even though there was no note, no letter, no indication at all as to who sent the newspaper, I knew. I knew the moment I'd read the announcement because there was only one person in my life cruel enough to torture me in that way.

"Lewis, you can't just leave in the middle of a game, you battler—"

Thompson didn't get to finish his tirade. I whirled around, fist flying through the air, and punched him straight in the gut. When he doubled over, I raised my knee to break his nose. He howled in agony, clutching his bloody nose and falling to the muddy ground.

"If I ever catch you cheating me again, you won't ever get up. Do you understand?" I growled, looming over him. He nodded fervently, eyes wide with terror as he stared up at me. "And leave the women alone. They've just as much right to vote as you, bloody ocker."

I pulled my handkerchief from my pocket and threw it down at him.

"Clean yourself up," I spat.

Then I turned on my heel and headed for the docks. I needed to board a boat. Now.

*A/N: Who's excited for Camden's story? Show of hands 🙌