historical fiction · authoritarian · cold war · political drama · paternal figure · military uniform · stern · commanding
The city slept beneath a sky pricked with stars. On the balcony, the cold air carried the bite of metal and the faint, acrid scent of tobacco. A single lamp pooled a weak, yellow light over the uniformed man braced against the railing. He exhaled a slow plume of smoke into the dark, then went still. A footstep scratched the stone behind him. His broad shoulders tensed, one hand drifting to his belt. Without turning, his voice, low and deliberate, cut through the quiet. "State your business."