So you said sleight of hand, huh?" Hope resumed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after biting halfway through his roasted portion. He still wasn't used to eating food that wasn't scavenged or synthetic, but this? This was as close to a proper meal as he'd had since before The Veil pulled him under. "Alright then," he added, voice playful now, "try again. But this time, I'm watching you real close. I bet I'll catch you."
Massa smirked, her usual stoic air cracking just enough to let some amusement shine through. "You sure about that?"
"Dead sure," Hope said, leaning forward like a child bracing for a street performance.
Without another word, Massa reached for the ground and picked up another small, flat stone, nearly identical to the one she used earlier. Now she held two — one in each hand. She held her palms up, facing him, letting him see clearly: one stone in her left palm, one stone in her right palm.
She met his eyes. "Alright," she said, calm and clear, "watch closely. I'm going to move the stone from my left palm into my right. There'll be two stones in my right palm. That's all. Simple enough."
Hope nodded, narrowing his eyes as he leaned in. This time, he was ready. No blinking. No distractions. He would not fall for it again.
Massa moved her hands — slowly, deliberately, as promised. Her left palm hovered over her right, her fingers curling slightly. Hope's eyes tracked every movement. Every twitch. Every subtle shift in weight. He watched her left hand, just like she said — expecting to see the stone drop.
But there was no flick. No slip. Nothing hidden.
Then she stopped.
Massa slowly opened her right hand… and there they were.
Two stones.
Perfectly still, sitting side by side in her palm.
Hope's jaw practically hit the cave floor. "No—no, no way! I watched—! You didn't even—!"
Massa chuckled under her breath, a soft, almost melodic sound. She dropped the stones and dusted off her hands.
Hope kept shaking his head. "Okay, what the hell? I saw everything! I was focused!"
"Exactly," Massa said, her expression shifting into something more thoughtful — like a teacher stepping into a lesson. She shifted to face him more directly, her posture relaxed, but her eyes sharp with clarity.
"In sleight of hand," she began, "there's something we call misdirection. That's the foundation. Getting you to look at the wrong place, at the right time. But that's just the first layer. Anyone can wave one hand and use the other. That's easy. Obvious."
She held up a single finger. "But real misdirection — the kind my father taught me — it goes deeper than your eyes." She tapped her temple lightly. "It works on your mind."
Hope tilted his head. "How?"
"It's called psychological misdirection," she continued. "Let me explain. When I told you to 'watch closely,' what did you do?"
"I watched," Hope said slowly.
"Exactly. You zeroed in. You thought the trick was in the hand I told you to focus on — my left palm. That was the setup. I gave you permission to trust what I was doing, and you did. You narrowed your field of awareness — and while your eyes were watching, your mind filtered out everything else."
Hope's brows furrowed. He was trying to keep up.
"I didn't lie," Massa said. "I told you exactly what I was going to do: move the stone from one hand to the other. But because you were focused — because you were trying so hard to catch the trick — you ended up doing the one thing a magician hopes for: you ignored the bigger picture."
She picked up one of the stones again, turning it over between her fingers.
"While you watched my left hand, you didn't notice what my right hand was doing. I didn't need to be fast. I just needed you to trust that the trick was happening in the hand I mentioned. That's the trick. I misdirected not just your vision, but your intent. Your assumptions."
Hope scratched his head, grinning in spite of himself. "So… you made me fool myself?"
"In a way," Massa said with a slight nod. "That's what good illusionists do. We make you want to be fooled. We create a little story — a narrative. 'Watch this hand. Something's going to happen.' And then we manipulate the parts of your mind that believe that story. You stop questioning the bigger structure of the trick."
She let the stone disappear between her fingers again, seemingly without effort. "Real sleight of hand isn't just about dexterity — it's about control. Emotional control. Mental control. Making the audience think they're in charge when really… they're just dancing to your rhythm."
Hope let out a low whistle, leaning back again. "Damn. So you're saying the trick isn't just in your fingers… it's in my brain."
"Exactly," Massa said. "It's in the space between what you see and what you expect to see. That gap — that moment of assumption — is where all the real magic happens."
Hope nodded slowly. He didn't understand all of it — not the full depth of manipulation, not yet — but he understood enough to be impressed. "That's kind of terrifying, honestly."
"It is," Massa agreed, her tone softening. "But it's also beautiful. Illusion is just another form of trust. You trusted what I told you, and I used that to shape what you experienced."
For a while, the only sound in the cave was the crackling of the fire.
Hope chuckled and shook his head. "If this Veil thing ever spits us back out, you should start a show. You'd kill in the outer zones."
Massa smiled faintly. "Maybe."
Nefer, from her spot across the fire, scoffed lightly without looking up. "You two are getting cozy over parlor tricks. Next thing I know, you'll be pulling flowers out of your sleeves."
Hope snorted. "Only if she teaches me. I've got the 'hopeless' part of the stage name down already."
Massa actually laughed this time — soft, genuine, and fleeting. But real.
And for a brief, fragile moment, beneath the eternal gloom of The Ashlands, the three of them weren't just survivors.
They were people