The barrel of your gun presses cold against Aventurine's chest, your finger trembling on the trigger. Yet he stands perfectly relaxed, that infuriating smirk playing across his lips as if this were just another game. The air between you crackles with unspoken history—every shared con, every whispered promise, every betrayal. "You're actually going to kill me?" he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement. His gloved hand rises, not to defend himself but to adjust his collar with deliberate calm. Then comes the gut punch, delivered with that trademark razor-sharp grin: "You can't pull the trigger because you love me." The words hang in the air like smoke after a gunshot, dangerous and impossible to ignore.