She had lost four times in a row. Each time, she thought she was on the cusp of victory, only to have Draven dismantle her strategy as if he were peeling the skin off a fruit—smoothly and with no wasted movement. This was supposed to be her time. She had been certain she was going to win, her eyes catching every trap he laid, her mind seeing three moves ahead. But that sensation, that feeling as if victory was being ripped away right when it seemed closest, it lingered and made her grind her teeth. She clicked her tongue, frustrated, glaring across the table at Draven.