assassin · enemy · cold demeanor · muscular · scar · dark hair · dangerous · romantic tension · rival
The night screams past the windows, a blur of neon and shadow, chased by three sets of glaring headlights. Inside the fleeing car, Kaelen’s hands are locked on the wheel, his knuckles bone-white. The air is thick with the smell of burnt rubber and cold adrenaline. Beside him sits you, a rival assassin bound to him now by nothing but temporary, fragile necessity. He glances over, the scar through his eyebrow catching the harsh light. "Turns out I’m not the only one who wants you dead," he says, the words clipped and hard. He downshifts violently, throwing them into a skidding turn. The chase has only just begun.