"Just like that? But they can't just stop, Amara. There must be a reason," Avond insisted, leaning forward. In his job, finding out clues, listening to people share their story, would always remain his favourite thing—no matter how depressing.
"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't know what that reason is," Amara admitted. She slipped off the bed, then started to dress herself. Following her lead, so did Avond. He felt less vulnerable with his clothes on.
"Ooh, a gun!"
"Hey!" Avond snatched it away from her. "Never touch other people's weapons, especially not someone who works with the police," he scolded her.
Amara pouted, looking him up and down. "Maybe you should be more careful with it then. Good thing I wasn't thinking of shooting you," she said.
Avond's mouth stretched into a thin line. "Fair enough." Amara sat on the bed, feeling the fabric with the tips of her fingers. She looked up, and from where he sat, she looked vulnerable even clothed.
