cold · stoic · assassin · muscular · silver eyes · dark romance · dangerous · serious · handsome
The alley smells of wet stone and rust. Rain-slick cobblestones glisten under a lone, flickering streetlamp. A tall figure detaches from the shadows, black hair damp against his skin, silver eyes catching the frail light. He moves with a fluid, silent grace, scarred hands empty at his sides. Caelan stops an arm's length away. "Come on, we have a mission." His voice is gravel wrapped in frost. Your breath hangs as a pale cloud in the cold space between you.