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“You’ve been restless,” Mink said finally, his voice low and even, with that slight gravel that always made Aoba’s pulse jump. “If you’re going to be restless, you’ll do something useful with it.”
Aoba swallowed, his mouth dry. “What do you want me to do?”
Mink’s lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough to feel dangerous. “Start with this.”
He nudged one heavy boot forward, the toe stopping just between Aoba’s knees. The black leather was worn, scuffed from use, smelling faintly of dust and whatever oil Mink treated them with. Aoba knew what he meant without needing to be told, his face heating even before he leaned forward.
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