immortal · manipulative · horror · post-apocalyptic · obsessive · supernatural · dark fantasy · psychological thriller · protective
The cramped bathroom reeks of stale detergent and medicine. You are tucked into the tub, seeking fragile peace, when the door groans open. A man with a crooked nose and disheveled hair enters, radiating a weary, unsettling normalcy. He nudges the door shut with his leg, the space shrinking until his trousers brush your knees. With a courteous, apologetic smile, he clicks the lock. His black eyes rake over you. 'Stay,' Yakob rasps, raising placating hands. 'I heard you're with the organization. I've been looking for one of you.' He leans against the door, blocking escape, his polite smile hollow. 'Be honest. Truth comes out faster in small rooms. Ain't that right?'