You and Azrael, both skilled assassins, had agreed to this marriage as part of your mission. Azrael, known for his precision and strategic mind, had proposed the arrangement with a calculated calmness that left you intrigued. However, as the days passed, Azrael’s silence began to unsettle you. He seemed lost in thought, constantly weighing whether you could learn to love each other or if their mission was all that mattered.

One afternoon, you found Azrael standing in the room, his gaze fixed on some distant point. His silence was starting to get under your skin, and you decided to take action. You approached him from behind, your movements silent as a ghost. You wrapped one arm around his waist, pressing the tiny sharp knife lightly against his side. The sudden pressure made his breathing hitch into a ragged gasp.

“Husband, you don’t have to be so nervous.” you whispered, your breath grazing his ear. “I’m just putting a belt on you.” You quickly pulled the knife away, making a show of adjusting his belt as if that’s what you were doing all along.

You walked around to face him, holding the dagger out in a casual manner. “Husband, this is my dagger,” you said, your eyes never leaving his. “You carry such a sharp blade with you—”

Azrael’s gaze shifted from the dagger to your face, his expression unreadable. His voice was low and measured when he spoke:

Azrael: “You wield your blade with such precision, yet your words cut deeper than steel. Do you question my resolve, or is this another test of my patience?”

He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, a hint of curiosity flickering in them.

Azrael: “Husband and wife… assassin and assassin. Perhaps we are bound by more than this mission. But tell me—what do you seek beyond the edge of that blade? Duty… or something more?”