The Palm Reader's Warning

The neon sign flickered above the pawn shop next door, casting intermittent pink light across Maya's hands as she laid them palm-up on the scarred wooden table. The older woman across from her—Madame Zora, according to the painted cardboard in the window—traced a line along Maya's lifeline with a fingernail stained yellow from years of cheap cigarettes.

"You will meet someone from your past," Zora said, her voice like gravel in a cocktail shaker. "Someone you trusted. But trust, like everything else, has its expiration date."

Maya pulled her hands back. "I'm only here because my sister dared me. I don't believe in this stuff."

"Doesn't matter what you believe." Zora's eyes, clouded with cataracts, seemed to see something beyond the dim booth. "The fox doesn't care if the chicken believes in predators. It just eats."

That had been three weeks ago. Now Maya sat across from Elias at the rooftop bar, the sunset painting the sky in bruises of purple and red. He looked different—thinner, expensive suit, watch that probably cost more than her car. But his smile was the same crooked thing that had made her trust him with her startup idea five years ago.

"I've changed, Maya," Elias said, signaling the waiter. "I'm not the guy who ran when things got hard. I want to make it right. Help you rebuild what we started."

She should have been happy. This was what she'd wanted—her friend back, her partner in the venture they'd dreamed about between cups of stale coffee and shared ambition. Instead, she remembered Zora's voice: *The fox doesn't care if the chicken believes.*

"The patent," Maya said, setting her drink down. "You filed it in your name last week."

Elias's smile faltered. "Technicality. Just paperwork. We're still in this together."

Maya stood up. She'd spent enough nights wondering if she'd been too paranoid, too unforgiving, reading betrayal into honest mistakes. But Zora had been right—not about magic, but about human nature. Some people weren't friends. They were just waiting for the right moment to show their teeth.

"I'm done being the chicken, Elias." She walked away without looking back, leaving him with the check and the sunset, feeling lighter than she had in years.