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T he low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses fill the dimly lit lounge, but I’m barely aware of it. The room is inviting, with dark wood paneling and leather seats that absorb sound, creating an intimate space where secrets are shared and plans are made. It’s our place—where the masks come off, and the pretense fades away.

I glance at the two men sitting across from me. Raven leans back in his chair, a lazy grin on his face, while Shadow’s green eyes flick between us, sharp and perceptive as always. The same restlessness that’s been gnawing at me for weeks lingers in the air, a quiet tension that none of us can shake.

“We’re getting soft,” I say, more to myself than to them. The words have been rattling around in my head for days now, a nagging frustration that refuses to be silenced.

Shadow raises an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. “Soft? I wouldn’t say that.”

“Not soft,” I correct, leaning back in my chair, “but stagnant. These requests—they’re all the same. Safe, predictable. Where’s the challenge? The thrill? I feel like we’re just going through the motions.”

Raven chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re bored.”

“Damn right, I’m bored.” The admission comes out harsher than I intended, but it’s the truth. The work we do—it’s supposed to be exhilarating, pushing boundaries, exploring the edge of what’s possible. But lately, it’s been nothing but routine. Safe fantasies, low risk, minimal excitement.

“Clients are choosing safety,” Shadow says, his tone measured. “They come to us because they know we’ll fulfill their fantasies without pushing them too far. That’s why they trust us.”

“And that’s why we’re here,” I agree, nodding. “Consent is everything. But I’m tired of these lukewarm requests. They’re not pushing us, and they’re not pushing them. I want something more. Something real.”

The words echo in my mind, stirring a deeper frustration that I can’t quite shake. This was never supposed to be just another business—another way to make money. It was supposed to be a way to escape the monotony of my life, to explore the darker sides of desire in a controlled, meaningful way. But now, even that control feels like a leash, tethering me to a routine I can’t seem to break free from.

Raven leans forward, blue eyes gleaming with interest. “You’re looking for a client who’s ready to go all in.”

“Exactly.” I take a slow sip of my drink, letting the burn of the whiskey ground me. “I’m not talking about breaking the rules. We don’t cross lines, and we don’t push clients beyond their comfort zones. But I want someone who’s ready to push their own boundaries. Someone who’s craving the thrill as much as we are. ”

Shadow considers this, his gaze thoughtful. “We can’t force it. It has to be their choice.”

“I know,” I say, a hint of frustration creeping into my voice. “But where are they? All we’re getting are these tame, watered-down fantasies. I need something more. We all do.”

It’s more than just the boredom. It’s the gnawing sense that I’m losing my edge, that the fire that drove me to create Obsidian Dreams in the first place is slowly flickering out. I used to thrive on the challenge, on the delicate dance between danger and control. Now, I feel like I’m just going through the motions, waiting for something—or someone—to reignite that spark.

Raven smirks, swirling his drink. “You’re waiting for the right one.”

“Aren’t we all?” I mutter, more to myself than to them. The right client, the one who’s ready to take that step into the unknown, to trust us with their deepest desires—that’s who I’m waiting for.

Shadow nods, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “The right client will come. Someone who’s ready to take that step.”

“And when they do,” Raven adds, raising his glass, “we’ll be ready.”

We clink glasses, a silent agreement passing between us. The restlessness doesn’t fade, but it’s tempered by a sense of purpose. The right challenge is out there, waiting.

But even as we share this moment, a part of me can’t help but wonder—how much longer can I wait? How much longer before this frustration turns into something darker, something I can’t control? The thought lingers, unsettling and unwelcome, but I push it aside. For now, I’ll wait. But the hunger is growing, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep it at bay.