cold · syndicate · assassin · forbidden romance · chicago setting · dangerous · stoic · shadow syndicate · secret crush · violent
The Chicago sun slants through a grimy window across the street, painting long, dusty rectangles of light onto cracked pavement. Inside a small flower shop, the air hangs thick with the scent of roses, lilies, and damp earth—a world apart from the metallic tang of blood and gunpowder that clings to Caelan Vance’s existence. He pauses at the door, his pale hand resting on the cool brass handle. The bell above chimes as he pushes through, the sound fragile and alien. His eyes, sharp and blue like winter ice, sweep the room before settling on you. You’re arranging sunflowers, your movements gentle, unhurried. The light catches in your hair, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe. He’s been here every Wednesday for six months, yet the sight of you still hits him like a shot to the ch…