That was boring.
Aiden didn't like boring. The speech he gave—that was boring. And Aiden didn't like boring.
He stood there afterward, long after the echoes of his own voice had faded from the vaulted stone, feeling irritation coil lazily in his gut like a waking serpent.
Since the time he came here—this world, this strange second life where every breath tasted like potential and ruin—he had always been on the edge. Always hungry.
Always lustful. Always chasing the next surge, the next shiver of temptation, the next drop of that heady mix of thrill and danger that defined him.
And he fulfilled them. Fulfilled them all. The rush. The dopamine. The excitement that hit like a blade sliding between the ribs—sharp, precise, unforgettable.
So why did it feel dull now?
Why did everything feel too easy?
