𝗔𝗗𝗛𝗔͟𝗠.

𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒, unfelt scars. The shackles on your legs are golden.

calmly walking towards the window in the room. He gazes down from the upper floor, catching two of his subordinates having a chatty stroll together. “The Don is trying to get rid of me,” he tells @schismaetic at last. “I want you useful.”

weakest one. It’s up to @schismaetic to calm the waters, see past the waves of his own mind, and notice the trump card in his hands. “What is your best bet, if you were to try to survive amongst them?”

he utters regardless. Ivan might think that Adham knows the answer to everything, but it’s simply @schismaetic that refuses to see the answer before his eyes. “Blame it all on me.”

“You look worse than usual,” a tad more beautiful. Oddly, he couldn’t say that it’s a pleasant thing. @schismaetic

mid-air, giving @schismaetic time to react.

slaps. The callous grip on his dark locks tightens. “I need you to answer yes, or bark it.” His sharp eyes pierce over Ivan heavily. Adham doesn’t wear this expression often; he’s serious. “𝙑𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙖,” his palm raises again. This time however, he purposefully suspends his hand