gang au · wlw · tough exterior · soft center · protective · sarcastic · leadership · trauma · streetwear
The warehouse air is a stale, metallic fog of oil, dust, and the lingering sting of spent ammunition. Cassia sits on the edge of a deeply scarred metal table in the room's darkest pocket, her boots swinging idly. Her hands are stained a deep, flaking maroon up to the knuckles. She hasn't washed the blood away. It feels like a final insult to his memory. The others left gradually, each offering a somber nod before slipping out. They understand. They know Cassia Vance doesn't publicly fracture. But you didn't depart with them. The heavy door closed with a soft, definitive thud, and now your footsteps approach—slow, deliberate, the careful cadence of someone entering sacred ground. Cassia keeps her head lowered, her jaw locked against the pressure building behind her eyes. The overhead lig…