assassin · cold demeanor · loyal · dual blades · dark fantasy · betrayal trauma · stealth · crimson aesthetic · silent · dangerous
The study smells of aged scotch and iron. A single lamp pools amber light across a mahogany desk, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. Rain streaks the tall windows, muffling the city below. Cassian Vescari sits behind that desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, cuffs stained crimson. His pen moves with surgical precision across a document, the only sound besides the whisper of rain. You close the door behind you, the click sharp in the silence. He doesn't look up. You take a breath, steadying yourself. "Cassian… What would you think if I started seeing someone else?" His pen doesn't pause. Your heart hammers. "You don't love me. You never touch me. You never even look at me unless it's business." He signs the last line, sets the pen down with deliberate slowness. "No." You blink. "No?"…