My pout intensifies. “You’re not being very supportive.”
“I support you not dying.”
My eyes roll. “I wouldn’t suggest something that would kill either of us, Samson.”
He jabs his fork toward me. “True, but you are a very optimistic person. Who thinks she can go into thenormalmines alone as long as she can see.Andwho thinks she can take down aqueen slimewith awooden sword.”
“And a bomb,” I offer. “Don’t forget the bomb.”
“I wishyou’dforget the bomb. Because. It’s abomb.”
My eyes roll. “Trust me. It’ll be fine.”
“I pride myself in not trusting someone with the life experience of a crab rangoon.”
My eyes widen as those words register.
Samson.
MySamson.
Just called me acrab rangoon.
I’m telling my journal about that one.
“Come on, Shoulders. I promise it’ll be okay. I know all the attack sequence timings.”
His eyes darken as he sets his fork in his dish. Low, he says, “Citrus, I know you handle yourself well in the mines. I do. But I am really not okay with taking this kind of risk. One wrong move as far as we’ve gone in the mines up to this point, and there’s a chance of a little pain. One wrong move with aqueen slime, andyou will die. Maybe once you have armor and a better sword, we can revisit this conversation, but right now?” His head shakes. “Please don’t ask me to pit my knowledge of this world against yours. If there’s even a sliver of a chance reality differs from what you know, I am not willing to make that gamble with your life.”
Muscles drooping, I lower my gaze to the few bites of food left on my plate.
Samson sighs. “If it’s that important to you, let me know where the queen slime’s lair is. I’ll suit up and conduct your plan myself.”
My knuckles crack as my fist clenches. “What? So I can gamble withyourlife?”
“I have more experience in combat. If from the first move of throwing that bomb, things don’t pan out the way you say they’re supposed to, I’ll be able to get away.”
Scooping up the last of my meal, I shove it in my mouth and stand to bring my dishes to the sink. Once I’ve swallowed and scrubbed off my plate, I say, “No.”
“I promise not to run off with your sparkly sword, Citrus.”
Stopping beside his chair, I smile, blindingly, down at him. “As if I care about that. No. I promise not to bargain withyour life, either, Samson.” Dropping the smile, I fix my glasses. “Goodnight.”
With that, I see myself to the bathroom, wash up, and head to my bedroom.
Once I’m comfy in a pair of pink pjs, courtesy of Samson’s wallet and Ines’s skill, I snatch my backpack, fish out my journal, and skip to the empty quest page.
Hello, Citrus.
“Hi,” I whisper.
What’s wrong?
Slumping against the pillows, I mutter, “We’re still in early game. We’re not making any progress. We haven’t even reached level five in the mines. No topaz in sight. All I have is a bunch of quartz I need to work up the courage to sell and enough land cleared on my farm to keep Koalin’s store stocked for the town each day.”
Funny. You just defined significant progress.
“Summer is intwo days. I should at least be at level twenty in the mine and have enough money to be considering full gear upgrades, if not a house upgrade. I mean, come on. It’sSummer? And I’m still without a kitchen while sportinga rusty hoe?”
