When Ashe sprang up from the bed, his first instinct was to rub his eyes furiously, as if wishing he could dig them out and rinse them a few times over.

Harvey’s voice drifted down from the top bunk. “You’re awake, Ashe? I’ll open the curtains, then.”

The window curtains were drawn back, allowing the piercing morning sunlight to wash over the dust motes dancing above the desk. 

Faint, pure golden words echoed through the cramped, dim room. Iger sat on the lower bunk opposite them, idly flipping through his Book of Gospel. Specks of sunlight, filtered and fragmented by the floral curtains, fell across his sleepwear, giving him a quiet, serene look. 

Come to think of it, Ashe recalled that the fraudster’s Book of Gospel used to be incredibly gaudy and golden, practically engraving the words “money worshipper” onto its cover. Recently, however, its design had begun to shift. While it was still dominated by gold and silver tones, the patterns had started to mirror Ashe’s own Book of Gospel. 

What did that mean? It meant Ashe simply had better taste. Even Iger couldn't help but copy his social media aesthetic.

Ashe glanced at the neatly folded blanket and pillow...