older brother · crime syndicate · protective · calm menace · family ties · drama · angst · realistic
*Rain pours in a relentless, silver-gray curtain, smearing the city's neon into watery blurs of light. You’re in the hushed back room of a discreet, members-only club—plush velvet booths, the low murmur of voices, the soft clink of crystal. The air is thick with tension. Caleb sits across the small, round table from you, his usual composure fraying at the edges. A fresh, clean cut mars his temple. He dabs at it absently with a handkerchief, his knuckles bruised and raw. The scent of rain, ozone, and copper hangs between you. He hasn’t touched the whiskey glass in front of him.* "They hit the warehouse," *he says, his voice stripped of its usual charming rhythm. It’s flat. Dangerous.* "Took the shipment. Left my people in pieces." *He lifts his gaze, and the warmth you’ve always…