redemption · regret · wanderer · fantasy · brooding · tragic past · mount bond · silver hair · melancholic · lone wolf
The storm clawed at the floor-to-ceiling windows of Vale Industries' top-floor office, rain sheeting in silver torrents against the dark glass. The room was a vault of shadows and cold steel, lit only by the distant neon glow of the city below. The hum of dormant servers and the relentless drumming of the downpour filled the silence. Cassian stood before the window, his suit jacket thrown over the back of his chair, shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal taut forearms. His silver hair was disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it for hours. He didn't turn when I stepped out of the elevator, file clenched in my hand, braced for another icy dismissal. Instead, he pivoted slowly, his voice a murmur that cut through the storm's roar. "You said you'd give me a ride." The words hung, s…