Chapter Two-hundred Twenty-Five: Aetheris-9
- Arthur
- 2 days ago
- 17 min read
Chapter 225
Aetheris-9
The next evening, Tristan was in his bedroom, smoking and looking through the Ghisyn project papers. He wore a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, beige chinos, and was barefoot. Deimos walked to a stop, gazing at Tristan. He wore an Anthrax tank top, torn jeans, and cowboy boots. Oh my God, his lovely, slender feet, he thought.
Tristan flicked his gaze up to Deimos.
Tristan: “Yes?”
He noticed a bulge in Deimos’ jeans and sighed.
Tristan: “When you get out of your trance, we can talk.”
He flipped through the papers.
Deimos: “It’s hard to when you’re teasing me with your feet.”
Tristan paused and glared at him. Deimos looked away.
He sauntered over to the chair and sat down.
Deimos: “Did you find anything?”
Tristan nodded and exhaled a drag.
Tristan: “Yes, Aetheris-9 is mentioned in this research paper. It’s a compound of Ehtytrim injected into the mother’s womb when she is at least two months pregnant. It’s supposed to create god-tier etheressums.”
He explained. Deimos twiddled his thumbs.
Deimos: “I asked Narcisse why he had those papers and asked if Bastien was one of those kids.”
Tristan raised his head to him.
Deimos: “He told me he was.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow.
Tristan: “He told you that willingly?”
Deimos locked his gaze on Tristan’s slender feet. He nodded. Tristan gazed at him skeptically.
Tristan: “For someone who is a ‘god-tier’ etheressum, he’s not that powerful. I’m more powerful.”
He scrutinized the paper.
Tristan: “I don’t think Narcisse would have divulged that to you willingly…”
He said under his breath.
Deimos: “Maybe Narcisse is one of them?”
Tristan twisted his mouth and turned some of the pages.
Tristan: “Narcisse was born in 1943. The project began in 1963. This is when they started. Ergo, the babies born from this project would have been born in 1964.”
He concluded.
Deimos: “So it could be Bastien.”
Tristan: “It doesn’t say anything more than that, and Bastien was born in 1965. If he is one, the project failed or didn’t meet their standards.”
He said, his voice trailing off.
Deimos: “Celeste mentioned one of the doctors in that paper. Maybe she is one?”
Tristan nodded.
Tristan: “She may be one of these kids.”
Tristan: “Unfortunately, there isn’t much here. Narcisse may have more, but this is all we have.”
He rested the papers on his lap.
Tristan: “Fen wants this compound, but how did he know about it, and why would he want it? It seems like this project was a one-time deal, and maybe it failed. This serum seems to work on fetuses and not when the baby is born.”
He stated.
Tristan: “It’s possible they could have developed this serum, but I can only theorize. All I know is what I see in these papers. The name derives from ‘etheressum,’ and the ‘nine’ is from the attempts it took until they perfected the serum. The trial dosages killed both the mothers and the babies they carried, as well as living people, before they moved on to fetuses.”
Deimos gazed at Tristan’s soles, zoning out everything he said.
Tristan caught Deimos and glared at him.
Tristan: “You listened to nothing I said!”
He snapped. Deimos smiled at Tristan.
Deimos: “I’m trying hard not to tickle your feet.”
Tristan crushed his cigarette in his ashtray and folded his arms, glaring at him.
Deimos snaked his arm around Tristan’s ankles and scribbled his fingers all over his slender soles. Tristan shrieked with laughter.
Tristan: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!! DEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEIMOHOHOS!!”
He pressed his hands against his temples and threw his head back laughing. Deimos tickled between his toes.
Tristan: “WAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAAAA!! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!”
He laughed hard and tears welled in his green eyes.
Deimos stopped tickling him and let him catch his breath. Tristan panted and removed his glasses. He wiped his eyes and cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief he kept on the table by his couch. He put his glasses back on and huffed.
Tristan: “Happy?”
Deimos beamed and nodded. Tristan looked away and smiled. He turned to Deimos and scrambled to his feet.
Tristan: “Good, because you’re buying me dinner.”
He teased.
Deimos: “S-Sure!”
~
Deimos and Tristan were eating Chinese food that he had delivered and paid for. Deimos had a can of beer, and Tristan had a glass of Riesling. Deimos was eating the spicy Cantonese beef and broccoli, honey garlic spare ribs, beef fried rice, and egg rolls. Tristan delicately ate the Cantonese chow mein, sweet-and-sour chicken, and mushroom fried rice.
Tristan: “Would you mind giving me an egg roll or two?”
Deimos pouted. Tristan gazed at him with dewy green eyes. Deimos looked away and handed him two egg rolls.
Tristan: “Merci beaucoup.”
He smiled. Deimos smiled a bit and gulped down beer.
Tristan: “Beautiful evening, isn’t it?”
He asked as he sipped on some wine.
Deimos: “Yeah… It is.”
He gazed at Tristan. Tristan smiled at him.
~
Jaxon leaned against Percy’s bar. He wore a red tiger stripe button-down shirt, tight black jeans, and black sheer socks. Percy wore a silver sequin suit, a white shirt with a white cravat, and silver boots.
Fen marched in and spread his arms.
Fen: “PERCY!”
He turned to Jaxon and winked.
Fen: “Hello, gorgeous.”
Jaxon rolled his eyes.
Percy: “You certainly like dropping in unannounced often, my magical friend!”
He quipped.
Fen: “You keep sexy company.”
He eyed up Jaxon. Jaxon shuddered and moved away from him. Percy smirked.
Percy: “Cut the vague speak. What do you really want?”
He sighed and grinned.
Fen: “I’d love a few minutes with your sexy prince, but what I really want is to make you an offer you can’t refuse!”
He nodded. Percy threw his head back and gave a harsh bark of laughter.
Percy: “Okay, you want to waste more of my time? Go on.”
He waved his hand.
Fen stepped aside, and Lily walked in wearing a pink t-shirt with a bear on it, a short ruffled skirt, pink ballet flats, and a diaper.
Percy: “...What is this?”
He asked indignantly.
Fen: “Lily wants to show you her diaper!”
Lily: “Look at my diaper, sir!”
She turned around and twerked. Jaxon looked away with disgust. Percy cupped his mouth.
Percy: “Fen, you have approximately five minutes to take your daughter and yourself out of here, or my kukri will drive through that skull of yours.”
He said firmly with a strained smile.
Fen’s jaw dropped.
Fen: “Percy, please! I AM OUT OF OPTIONS!”
He caterwauled. Percy scoffed and laughed.
Percy: “And that is my problem because? I’m not the one who made the deal with Zhaolin!”
He cackled.
Fen: “My life is on the line here!”
He pounded his fist on the counter.
Percy: “I can’t help you, darling! Go pimp your diaper-wearing daughter to Zhaolin and see how she handles it.”
He smirked. Fen glowered at Percy. Lily tugged on Fen’s coat.
Lily: “Daddy, can you buy me a toy?”
Fen turned to Lily in a fury.
Fen: “Daddy is busy, Bǎobèi!”
He screamed at her.
Percy: “Yes, busy leaving. Goodbye, Fen.”
He smiled and dragged his fingertip across his kukri blade. Fen froze and flicked his gaze to Jaxon and back to Percy.
He then escorted Lily out of his house. Percy heaved a deep sigh.
Jaxon: “He’s not done.”
Percy folded his arms.
Percy: “Zhaolin will kill him, especially if he offers his diaper-wearing daughter to her.”
He chuckled.
Jaxon turned to him and ran his hands over his chest. Percy smiled down at him. He grasped his hands and kissed each of them.
Jaxon: “Want to come to bed?”
He whispered and licked his ear. Percy shivered.
Percy: “I’d be a fool not to.”
He snaked his arm around Jaxon and scooped him up into his arms. Jaxon gazed at him lovingly as Percy carried him up the stairs.
~
Celeste lay in Fabien’s bed, gazing at the wall. She didn’t leave his bed, except to shower, brush her teeth, and use the bathroom. Fabien stood in the doorway wearing a green robe. He had short stubble on his face. He went to the bathroom and grabbed a package of Shunga Love Bath he had stolen from Jordi’s gift batch. He read the directions and opened the box. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and ran a warm bath. He poured the contents of the first sachet into the tub and went back to his bedroom. He smiled at Celeste.
Fabien: “Want to get into the tub with me?”
He winked. Celeste nodded and rose from the bed.
When she entered the bathroom, the room smelled of a wonderful ocean aroma. Celeste saw the water transform into a silky, pearl-like gel. She looked up at Fabien and smiled at him. He untied the sash on his robe and dropped it to the floor. Celeste pulled off her tank top and slid her panties off. She took Fabien’s hand and the two went to the tub and stepped inside. He grabbed a clump of blue gel and massaged it on her back. She turned to and kissed him deeply. Fabien’s stubble grazed against her face, neck, and breasts. Celeste laughed as his stubble tickled her.
Celeste: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!”
Fabien chuckled and pecked each of her brown tips. He then opened his mouth to one and sicked on her nipple. Celeste ran her fingers through his hair as she held his head close to her heart.
Fabien massaged her legs and inner thighs, his fingers gliding to her feminine core. His fingers massaged her vulva until they located her clitoris. He ran his fingers in a circular motion over the swollen knot of flesh. Celeste’s eyelashes fluttered as her arousal soared. She wanted this man closer to her, inside her, to connect with him on a much deeper level.
Celeste: “F-Fabien…”
Her moan escaped her lips. Fabien smiled at her as he inserted his fingers inside of her core. She shut her eyes tightly and moaned as she thrust against his hand.
Fabien slid his hand out, gripped her, drawing her close to him, pressing her large breasts against his chest, and settling his hardness inside of her. Celeste yelped in pleasure when he filled her. She clung to him, digging her nails lightly into his back and moving in rhythm to his thrusts.
Celeste’s movements were slow and deliberate, a small smile playing on her lips as she gazed at him. The pearly gel moved to the beat of his thrusts into her.
Fabien: “You’re beautiful.”
He murmured, his voice a low rumble that resonated against her back. He reached out, his damp hands tracing the curve of her waist, pulling her flush against his chest.
Celeste’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her body aching for the weight of him.
The perfumed gel became a warm, weightless medium for their movement. Guided by the slick heat and the pull of gravity, Fabien lifted her slightly, picking up the pace with his thrusts. A soft gasp escaped her lips, swallowed by another kiss as they connected.
Every movement was fluid, slowed by the resistance of the aromatic pearls but intensified by the friction of their skin. Fabien’s hands moved to her hips, guiding the rhythm, his breathing growing shallow as Celeste arched her back, her fingers gripping the edge of the tub. The boundaries between their bodies seemed to blur, dissolved by the heat and the moment’s intensity. The gentle lapping of the pearls against the porcelain matched the steady, passionate cadence they created together.
They moved as one, a dance of breath, skin, and whispered promises. The world outside the steamed-up windows ceased to exist, narrowing to this small, warm sanctuary.
As the tension reached its peak, Fabien pulled her tightly against him, his buried face in the crook of her neck. Celeste clung to him, her breath catching as a wave of intense pleasure washed over her, and screamed as she climaxed, followed closely by his own release, his body trembling against hers.
Afterward, the gel steadied again, save for the occasional ripple. Celeste rested her forehead against Fabien’s, both of them catching their breath, their hearts beating in a synchronized, frantic rhythm that gradually slowed.
Fabien wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close into his chest as she turned back around to rest against him. The two stepped out of the tub. He opened the second sachet and poured it into the tub, watching the pearls dissolve, and the water turned a blue hue.
He pulled a warm towel from the nearby rack, draping it over her exposed shoulders to shield her from the cooling air. They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in the fading warmth, listening to the quiet drip of the faucet and the steady sound of each other’s breath.
~
Celeste and Fabien lay in each other’s embrace in his bed.
Celeste: “Fab, do you think Jax will ever come to us?”
She asked him. Fabien drew a long breath.
Fabien: “I don’t know. I think he hates me. I don’t think he’s over what I did on his and your birthday.”
He replied in a plaintive tone.
Celeste: “Did you apologize?”
She looked up at him. Fabien blinked and shifted his eyes.
Fabien: “...No… I figured everything was okay after I dumped Craig.”
He said with strain.
Celeste: “Maybe you should apologize.”
Fabien drew a long breath.
Fabien: “I don’t do apologies. Anyone can apologize, but your actions speak louder than any simple ‘I’m sorry.’ ”
He stated.
Fabien: “How many times has Blair said he was sorry? He said he was sorry because his grandfather and the funny-looking step-dad, or godfather, or whatever he is, twisted his arm. But IS Blair sorry? No, he’s not.”
He stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
Fabien: “He says it ‘cause he was forced to, but his actions don’t show it.”
He inhaled sharply.
Fabien: “Anyway, he got his revenge on me, so I guess we’re even.”
He concluded.
Celeste: “He’s not coming back.”
Fabien knit his eyebrows.
Fabien: “Yeah…, I know.”
He said glumly.
~
The night heat dissolved the moment one stepped into the hidden sanctuary of the inner courtyard. It was a pocket of the world forgotten by time, anchored by a low-slung, ancient pavilion whose roof wore a heavy cloak of weathered gray tiles, curved like the scales of a sleeping dragon. Beneath its deep eaves, the dark timber framework framing the open room spoke of generations past, housing a modest wooden table and three empty chairs that seemed to wait for ghosts to resume an interrupted conversation.
But the true soul of the courtyard lay in the sunken, crystalline pond. Nestled at its edge, where the mossy stones met the water, a small, dark timber water wheel turned in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Fed by a hollowed bamboo flume that coaxed a steady stream from above, the wheel’s wooden paddles scooped and spilled the liquid glass, casting a gentle, rhythmic clack-splash that served as the heartbeat of the garden.
The cascading water fractured the surface into concentric rings of silver ripples, scattering the school of koi below. Splashes of living gold, pale ivory, and fiery vermilion glided through the cool depths with effortless grace, weaving around submerged mossy stones and miniature rock islands, dodging falling droplets. Here, insulated from the clamor of the outside world, the air smelled faintly of damp soil, rain-soaked wood, and the perpetual, soothing song of turning water.
A tall Chinese woman strolled out to the courtyard. She had a cool, confident, and somewhat modern-meets-traditional aesthetic. Her stoic expression was emphasized by dark lipstick. Small, dark, rectangular sunglasses that obscured her dark, sinister eyes.
Her black-purple hair was long and straight, falling past her shoulders, with prominent straight-cut bangs framing her face. She wore a red qipao with gold trim; it featured a high, Mandarin-style collar and a traditional asymmetrical neck closure. The dress was form-fitting and featured a high right thigh slit that revealed a large dragon tattoo.
Layered over the dress was an open, cropped black jacket with structured lapels and long sleeves.
She was barefoot, but she had thick gold anklets around her lower shins. She was Zhaolin Lan, the 28-year-old leader of The Azure Dragon Pavilion.
A tall, burly woman strolled out to join her. She stood a foot over Zhaolin. She had a sturdy, muscular, and broad-shouldered build, radiating physical strength. She had a wide, enthusiastic, gap-toothed grin, large expressive eyes, and prominent, thick eyebrows that gave her a fierce look.
Her red hair was pulled back tightly into a neat bun at the back of her head. Her outfit resembled a police officer’s costume. She wore a short-sleeved, button-up, collared shirt tucked into her shorts, paired with a wide necktie, and structured, cuffed shorts held up by a simple belt. On her feet, she wore penny loafers with mid-calf crew socks. She was Zhaolin’s 35-year-old muscle, Helga. She grinned at Zhaolin, who just curtly nodded.
~
Fen was tied to the watermill outside and screaming. The watermill was still, as Fen was a few feet above the water’s surface.
Fen: “ZHAOLIN! WAIT! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT OR HOW TO GET IT!”
He caterwauled and thrashed against his bonds.
Zhaolin: “You told me you had the means to obtain the Aetheris-9 in exchange for me allowing you to operate Miss Peahaven on my turf and using my funds.”
She said coldly. Fen panted rapidly.
Fen: “Well, what am I looking for?! I asked around, and I don’t even know what it is!”
He whined. Zhaolin glared coldly at him.
Zhaolin: “Don’t feign ignorance. I told you it was a compound of Ehtytrim.”
She said sharply.
Fen: “Y-Yeah, well, I don’t even know about Ehtytrim!”
He stammered.
Zhaolin’s dark, cold eyes flicked to Helga. She gave her a curt nod. Helga chuckled and pulled the lever. The water mill began to turn, and Fen slowly sank into the water. He held his breath as he submerged.
The pressure of the pond pressed against Fen’s temples, a heavy, silent weight that grew colder the deeper he kicked. Above him, the surface was a warped sheet of silver; below, the water dissolved into an opaque, murky green. His lungs began to signal the familiar, rhythmic ache for air when he brushed against something unexpectedly soft.
He looked down.
From the shifting shadows of the pond bed, a face drifted upward. It was a caricature of humanity—the skin bleached a sickly, translucent white and stretched taut over features distorted by gases. The bloated corpse floated upright, suspended in the aquatic twilight like a horrific marionette. Its sightless, milky eyes seemed to lock directly onto his.
Panic, primal and electric, bypassed Fen’s brain and went straight to his chest. He opened his mouth to recoil, forgot completely where he was, and screamed.
The sound never reached the air. It tore from his throat as a violent, choked rattle, instantly strangled by the water rushing into his mouth. A massive, chaotic torrent of silver bubbles erupted from his lips, masking the dead man’s face for a fraction of a second as they roared toward the surface. Fen thrashed backward, his mind spinning into a dark frenzy as the stolen oxygen escaped him, leaving nothing but the taste of iron and lake weed in his wake.
The mill turned, lifting Fen up to the surface and out of the water. He gasped and choked for air as the wheel turned. Fen let out a ghastly scream as he was once again submerged. He met with the bloated corpse and let out another scream.
The mill turned again, lifting him from the water.
Fen: “PLEASE! PLEASE! I KNOW WHERE TO GET IT! I KNOW WHO HAS IT! STOP IT!”
He cried as he thrashed against his bonds. Zhaolin raised an eyebrow and put her hand up. Helga pulled the lever, and the mill stopped. Fen’s damp clothes clung to his clammy skin as he panted.
Zhaolin: “If you offer me a session of changing your daughter’s dirty diaper, I will have Helga rip your nuts off.”
She said coolly. Helga grinned and chuckled.
Helga: “Please do that…”
She licked her lips. Fen whimpered.
Fen: “I went to Percy Pearson to find it. He won’t give it to me!”
He cried. Zhaolin was about to turn to Helga.
Fen: “But I know his weakness! I KNOW WHO YOU CAN CAPTURE SO HE WILL COMPLY!”
He cried. Zhaolin raised her eyebrow.
Zhaolin: “The vial was stolen from The Megalos Tower some time ago… Percy has it?”
She asked slowly. Fen’s bottom lip trembled, and he nodded.
Fen: “But I don’t know where he has it, but if you capture his beloved prince, he will give it to you!”
He said quickly and sobbed. Zhaolin cupped her chin.
Zhaolin: “Prince?”
Fen meekly nodded.
Fen: “It’s this hot Japanese boy named Jiro Tachibana! He goes by the nickname, Jaxon! He means everything to Percy! If you get him, he will surely hand over what you want!”
He warbled.
A smile crept on Zhaolin’s lips.
Zhaolin: “You better not be lying to me, Fen.”
She locked her cold gaze on him. Fen pursed his lips.
Fen: “No, I am not!”
He cried.
Zhaolin: “I am sure you saw the person down below… That will be you if you’re lying to me.”
She said acidly. Fen trembled and peed his pants.
Helga: “Hahahahaha, uh-oh, Daddy’s gonna need some of his daughter’s diapers!”
She teased. Zhaolin rolled her eyes.
~
The room breathed with a profound, deliberate silence, a sanctuary carved out of shadow and pale light.
On the floor, the woven tatami mats stretched out in an orderly grid, catching the soft, diffused afternoon light that spilled through the massive glass partitions. Beyond the dark timber frames of the sliding doors lay a sliver of a courtyard—a single, perfectly manicured tree leaning toward the glass like a painted screen, its vibrant green leaves a sharp contrast to the interior's muted tones.
At the center of the room sat a low-slung, dark wood table, perfectly set for tea. Around it, plush lavender cushions rested directly on the floor, arranged with symmetrical precision. A slender, bare branch stood in a minimalist vase on the table’s surface, mimicking the wilder nature kept just outside.
To the right, the wall was a vast expanse of cream, interrupted only by the stark black ink of a single framed kanji character—茶—proclaiming the room’s singular, peaceful purpose. Opposite it, a massive accent wall of dark, vertically paneled wood grounded the space, its deep tones swallowing the light and casting a protective, comforting shadow over the low credenza below.
Above, a soft, square lantern hung from the recessed ceiling, unlit for now, leaving the room to be illuminated only by the fading day and the quiet, timeless atmosphere of the tea house.
Jaxon entered the room with Daisy McClain following him. He wore a red tiger-stripe button-down shirt, tight leather pants, and was barefoot. Jaxon knelt at the table and on the cushions. Daisy snapped pictures of his feet.
He rose, unbuttoned his shirt, and brushed it past his shoulders. She snapped pictures of those. Jaxon smiled as he unbuckled his belt and slid his pants and underwear past his hips. He lay on the cushions, totally nude as Daisy snapped pictures of him, baring it all.
Daisy: “Jaxon, would you be interested in ‘shibari tickling’?”
She asked, biting her bottom lip. Jaxon swung his gaze to her.
Jaxon: “What would that entail?”
He put his hands behind his head as she snapped pictures.
Daisy: “Tying you in shibari style and being tickled on your feet… and manly parts…”
She said slowly. Jaxon looked away, recalling that he had done that to Celeste on both of their birthday.
Jaxon turned to her with a sad smile.
Jaxon: “Sure, I’d love it.”
The door slid open. Fabien and Celeste marched in. Fabien wore a “Bogan Intoxikation” shirt with a green plaid shirt over it, jeans, and flip-flops. Celeste wore a black Iron Maiden shirt, a black leather skirt, a black leather jacket, a spiked collar, black nylons, and black ankle-strap boots. Fabien held a pie in his hands. Jaxon rose.
Jaxon: “What the fuck are YOU doing here?!”
He sneered. Fabien showed him the pie, which had “I’m sorry” carved on the crust using his finger.
Fabien: “I got this pie for you, Jaxon! It’s showing you I’m sorry I ruined your birthday!”
He beamed. Jaxon growled at him.
Jaxon: “Oh yeah?! Where did you get it?!”
Celeste: “He stole it from Jordi’s windowsill! Ashley made it!”
Fabien: “Yeah, she doesn’t need this. She’s too fat, so here you are, friend!”
Celeste knit her eyebrows at Fabien. He handed Jaxon the pie. Jaxon’s lips stretched to form a scowl.
Jaxon: “I don’t want your half-assed apologies or your fucking PIE!”
He rasped. He grabbed the pie from his hands and rammed it into his face. The globs of blackberries dripped down his face, clothes, and onto the floor. Celeste looked at Jaxon with hurt in her eyes.
Jaxon then grabbed Fabien, shoved him out, and into the pond, where he made a mighty splash. Fabien emerged from the surface, and the dish floated in the water.
Fabien: “WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?!”
He barked.
Jaxon: “YOU! YOU’RE THE PROBLEM! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU EVER AGAIN!”
He fired back. He turned to Celeste.
Jaxon: “And you… LEAVE ME ALONE!”
He cried and shoved her aside, slamming the door on her. Celeste’s face flickered with hurt as he slammed the door on her.
She sighed and went to the pond to help Fabien up.
Fabien: “Why?! He doesn’t want to hear from us! I went through a lot to tell him I was sorry!”
He huffed as he took her hand, and she lifted him out of the water. When he stepped onto the surface, he removed his shirts and wrung them out, as Celeste grabbed his floating flip-flops from the water.
Celeste: “Maybe instead of stealing, I could make him a pie?”
She offered. Fabien took his flip-flops.
Fabien: “And have it go to waste when he throws it in my face. Better that fat pig’s pie get wasted than yours.”
He huffed. Celeste looked at him beseechingly. Fabien sighed and wrapped his arms around her.
Fabien: “It seems no matter what we do, he’s going to find a way to lash out at us.”
Celeste’s eyelashes dipped.
Celeste: “Yeah…”
~
Jaxon listened on the other side and pounded on the wall. I don’t need those two anyway, he thought.
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