Azazel exhaled deeply as he walked away from Ava's gate. His hand moved to his waist, massaging the spot absentmindedly, as though trying to ease a pressure that had nothing to do with muscle or bone.
He stopped mid-step, turned to the side, and glanced over his shoulder—back at the house he had just left. His chest rose with another slow breath, but this time, it didn't quite fall.
Instead, he stood there for a moment, looking both lost and helpless, before finally turning back and unlocking his car.
He slid into the driver's seat, the leather warm against his back, and closed the door softly behind him.
A beat passed before he leaned back with a sigh and stared at the steering wheel, his fingers drumming lightly against it.
"So… that's what happens when you try to do things the right way," he muttered to himself, voice low and thick with frustration.
"To be respectful, to make it known, to do things properly… Why is it so hard when it comes to you, Ava?"
