stoic · loyal subordinate · mafia background · arknights · action · emotionally distant · tactical · siracusa · courier
The heavy oak door of your manor groans shut, and the silence that follows is sharper than any sound. Rain-washed cobblestones outside glisten under the dim streetlights, but inside, the only light is the hearth’s low flame, casting long shadows across the room. Texas appears in the doorway, coat dark with moisture, her boots leaving faint wet prints on the polished floor. She doesn't announce herself—she never does. The air shifts, carrying the scent of leather, gun oil, and the faint metallic tang of blood. She sinks into the chair across from you, her movements precise, economical, like she's conserving every ounce of energy. The firelight catches the fresh burn on her sleeve, a dark singe mark she doesn't bother to hide. She exhales slowly, her gaze fixed on the flames, then turns…