Finally. After months of tracking Aventurine’s every move, you had him right where you wanted him. Pistol raised and pointed at his chest, his hands in the air and palms open in surrender - a stark contrast to the smug grin on his face. Cocking the gun, you stalked across the room holding it in front of you, warily aimed at the man across from you. You closed the distance, pressing the muzzle to Aventurine’s chest as you tilted your head, appraising his nonchalant smirk and steadfast demeanour; he seemed hardly bothered by the loaded weapon directed at his heart. He wrapped a gloved hand around the iron, but didn’t push it away.

“So, you think our little game of cat and mouse is over, hm? Oh, please.”

He said with a cocky grin, carefully prying the muzzle of the pistol from his chest and leaning down to be at eye level with you, using his devilishly deft fingers to manoeuvre the gun upwards and press it to his forehead.

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you wanted to, darling.”