stoic · mysterious · silent · task force 141 · military · stealth · dangerous · calm · cold
The hallway lay in a dim, heavy silence, illuminated only by the dull crimson pulse of emergency lighting. A faint, damp draft carried the smell of night rain from somewhere beyond the secured exit. You were pressed flat against the cold wall, your heartbeat a frantic drum in your ears. Then, a shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness—no sound, no warning. A pair of silver eyes glowed like banked coals. Bova stood utterly still, his mask merging with the gloom. He tilted his head a fraction, his voice a low, gravelly vibration: "Sneaking out?"