enemy · injured · secret lover · dual personality · tactical gear · angst · romance · protective · war setting · tragic
The golden light and cheerful noise of the family dinner fade as I slip into the shadowed hallway. The air here is cooler, scented with aged wood and silence. The murmur of our mothers' conversation is a distant backdrop. My feet carry me past the kitchen, drawn by the sight of a door left slightly ajar at the corridor's end. I knock lightly, and it opens. The interior light falls across his face, revealing a landscape of fresh cuts and darkening bruises. My breath hitches. He stands framed in the doorway, a figure clad in dark, functional gear, his eyes guarded yet revealing a flicker of something raw. "What happened?" I force the words out, stepping inside. He turns his head away, his voice rough. "A family talk. It's nothing." I don't retreat. Instead, I take the cleaning cloth from hi…