"I guess so," Marco shrugged. He started back up the stairs, going slow in case Rhett changed his mind. "I get keeping the pocket knife. Hell, I get keeping our fucking wallets. But who the fuck is gonna keep a deck of cards? You know? That's why I keep my shit in there. No one cares about a standard deck of cards."
He stopped on the landing at the top of the stairs, hesitating, then walking back down and past Rhett. "Maybe they just moved our stuff," he considered, this time expecting Rhett to follow. "Like, they're holding it downstairs, saving it for us, or whatever. With a receptionist?" It seemed silly to not put it in the rooms with their clothes, but if Rhett had a knife with him, he understood the logic there. The subject numbers on their bracelets were probably just to keep track of who's stuff was where.