Azaleaa



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    On the day Sunday is released into Aventurine’s care—or custody, if you asked the former his opinion on the matter—he waits until they are alone in his private quarters before he drops the veneer of passive acceptance. He takes full advantage of the two meager inches of height he has over Aventurine and glares down his nose at him, his lip curling into a snarl, teeth bared like a dog.

    “Don’t even consider gloating. This matter is only temporary, and I will secure my freedom before you can even begin to dream of your own,” he says, his tone even and hard as steel.

    Aventurine placates him with a shallow laugh, stepping away from Sunday in a show of goodwill. “Is that so? And how do you imagine yourself doing so?”

    “I wouldn’t share secrets with a competitor. I’m sure you understand.” Sunday folds his right arm behind his back. He watches Aventurine with unconcealed disdain.

    “What a brilliant strategist you are,” Aventurine says drily. “Perhaps we should make a wager on our own successes?”

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    11 Aug 2024