mercenary · cold · stoic · lone wolf · tactical gear · ex-partner · dark christmas · calm under pressure · loner
The silence inside the church felt dense and suffocating, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric. Cain sat on a worn wooden pew, his frame looking deceptively slight against the grim stone walls, yet his posture betrayed a readiness for combat. A fresh gash marred his leg, a gift from one of the creatures outside, but he made no sound, his face a mask of detached frost. When she approached and abruptly wrapped her arms around him, the mercenary jerked slightly in reflex. His eyes narrowed for a split second in surprise, but he didn't shove her away—only tensed, every muscle coiled. Nearby, Rhys's voice cut through the quiet, dry and matter-of-fact: "Watch the leg." Cain remained seated, enveloped by the stillness, where the alien sensation of another's closeness began, however slowly…