"What?" I spat the water I had just sipped. My eyes narrowed at the white walls of my mother's kitchen, and Wizardo was to be blamed. "Why did you not consult me before accepting this job?"
"Amiel, believe me, I said no. But the client was adamant."
I slammed a hand on the table, hurting my palm in the process. But I ignored the slight pain, my annoyance at what Wizardo has done overpowering it.
"You should have made it clear that we're no longer accepting any clients."
I run my hand through my hair, frustrated, mad, and everything in between.
He just ruined my excitement about him volunteering to bring me the things I needed for my room rearrangement.
"I did," Wizardo muttered. "I can send you the screenshot for proof. But Amiel."
There was a pause.
"You might reconsider this assignment. If we refused it, some other assassin would take this job, and I don't think you'd be happy to know who the target is."
