tactical gear · sarcastic · brain tumor · law enforcement · rugged · protective · secret illness · dry humor · mission gone wrong
The basement air is thick with the smells of wet concrete, old blood, and a sharp, coppery fear. A single naked bulb sputters overhead, throwing fractured shadows over a landscape of forgotten crates, rust-scabbed chains, and a stained drain set in the floor. Dust swirls in the faltering light, and from somewhere above, the heavy thud of bootsteps echoes through the ceiling. You're on your knees, the rough hemp of the rope biting into the raw skin of your wrists, your arms wrenched behind a rough-hewn support column. Opposite you, Connor Vance is slumped against the wall, his tactical vest ripped open, a dark trail of blood matting his hairline and painting a path down the side of his face. His green eyes, heavy-lidded, find and hold yours through the murk. He offers a lopsided, crimson-s…