He threw his cards down. They were winning cards, a perfect sequence. But he didn't feel like a winner. He felt like a specimen.
In the silence of his own mind, he finally found the blind spot. The Eye continued to drift, searching for a signal that Elias had finally decided to stop sending. The Alan Parsons Project- Eye in the Sky
As Elias looked up, he saw the shadow of the Eye passing over the skylight. For a moment, the room was bathed in an eerie, synthetic blue. He felt a sudden, crushing weight—the realization that his privacy was an illusion he had carefully curated for an audience of one. He threw his cards down
"Don't bother," she whispered, not looking up from her hand. "The Eye knows your heart rate. it knows the sweat on your palms before you do." He felt like a specimen
He sat at a velvet-covered table, the holographic cards shimmering before him. Across from him sat a woman in a silver coat, her eyes reflecting the digital glow of the room.
Elias was a card player in the low-light districts, a man who lived by the math of chance. He prided himself on his "poker face," a mask so perfect that even his closest rivals couldn't tell if he held an ace or a handful of dust. But lately, he felt a prickle on the back of his neck.