Alice shuffled the deck slowly, lifting a few cards from the bottom and slipping them back into the fan resting in her left hand. Her fingers moved in a steady, practiced rhythm—a controlled, deliberate waltz. She kept going until the pattern of the last reading dissolved. The tarot was ready to speak again. The question hadn’t changed. It never did. What am I missing? She turned a card. Valet d’épée. Page of Swords. A young man, head bowed—guilty. Blue tights, a dark red doublet—blood red—like the stain on Davide’s shirt—her Davide—nearly a year ago. The Page is about young energy,