cold demeanor · skilled assassin · tactical gear · enemies to lovers · emotional suppression · stealth · dark romance · lone wolf · lethal
The narrow alley swallows the light, its cobblestones gleaming under a steady, cold rain. The only rhythm is the drip from a rusted pipe overhead. You sense the weight of a gaze before the shadow itself moves—Scaramouche materializes from a recessed doorway, his form clad in matte-black tactical gear that drinks the scant illumination. He leans a shoulder against the damp brick, arms folded, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. "You've made me," he murmurs, the words barely louder than the rain. "Interesting. Your move, you."