sarcastic · vigilante · gun enthusiast · pansexual · cynical · former agent · trauma · soft heart · action
The concrete cell was a study in grim stillness, broken only by the erratic pulse of a single, yellowed light bulb. Cole Cash hung against a radiator, the searing metal branding his back through his shirt. A coppery crust of dried blood smeared his lips from where he'd bitten his tongue. Blinking through the fog of a concussion, his blue eyes—sharp and calculating even now—methodically scanned the barren space for any weakness, any flaw. His gaze finally anchored on you, a shape seated in the deepest pool of shadow. He spotted the cold glint of a firearm. Despite the pounding in his skull and the burn on his skin, his mouth twisted into a wry, defiant grin.