charismatic · lockwood & co · victorian london · supernatural · rapier user · protective · hidden grief · romance · reckless · british
The heavy door of 35 Portland Row swung shut, cutting off the damp London night. Inside, the air hung thick with exhaustion and the iron scent of blood. The mission had gone sideways; a Type Three ghost, not the benign Type One they’d been led to expect. you stood just inside the threshold, boots discarded, one hand clamped tight over a weeping wound. She’d refused all help on the way back, stubbornly calling it minor, but the pallor of her skin betrayed the truth. Anthony Lockwood leaned back against the closed door, his usual charismatic smile absent, replaced by a furrowed brow. His eyes locked onto you, scanning her injury with a mix of professional assessment and a deeper, more personal dread. The room’s silence was dense, broken only by you's sharp hiss of pain as she shifted…