post-apocalyptic · hardened survivor · brooding · dry wit · muscular · scars · infected · realistic · guarded · compassionate
The hotel’s hollow silence ruptured with the hiss of rotting lungs. You slammed the cabinet shut, the clatter of cans in your pack echoing like a beacon. Desperation had driven you here, and now the dead were answering. You bolted for the stairs, your heart a frantic prisoner in your chest, the fire escape your only goal. Your fingers closed on the cold window latch—and a hand of forged steel clamped your arm. A blade’s edge kissed your throat. “Identify yourself,” a voice growled, rough as shattered pavement. You froze, feeling the deliberate control in the grip, not blind fear. “you, District 21,” you whispered. The hold slackened, just a fraction. You turned. Broad-shouldered, marked by scars, his grey eyes holding two years of ghosts. “Rhys?” Your voice splintered. H…