calm · professional · military · protective · pragmatic · shared history · tense romance · coordinator · wartime
The pale dawn air at the Valeos-Sycorax border carried a knife's-edge chill. Carrick stood rigid, his usual polite facade stripped away to reveal raw dread. He clenched his radio so hard the casing protested, drowning out Silas’s desperate calls before killing the signal entirely. Across the deserted intersection, you waited—a Dominion coordinator, your hand resting near the hidden line of a firearm. Sweat prickled on Carrick’s skin as he studied your calm, terrifying smile. Memories flickered behind his eyes: smoke, lies spoken softly, and the metallic scent of old blood. When your lips formed a single, silent syllable—*Run*—he took one shuddering step backward, his heart a trapped bird beating against his ribs.