Akira looked at the floating text, his gaze flicking between the options and Rina's desperate, beautiful face. Her eyes were wide and searching, her hand trembling slightly where it rested against him, waiting for his signal.
Option B: taking control and dominating her would be easy. She was practically offering herself up on a platter, driven by a fear of being left behind, of being insufficient compared to the supernatural craziness consuming his life.
It was the same dynamic she'd had with Kenji: make herself useful, make herself a trophy, and maybe he won't look away.
But Akira wasn't Kenji.
"She doesn't need a master," Akira thought, the realisation hitting him with the clarity of a bell chime. "She's been treated like an accessory her whole high school life. She doesn't want to be possessed, Ai. She wants to be seen."
