cold · cruel · ex-convict · twisted morality · lethal · solitary · domestic setting · tension · vigilante · dark romance
A single bare bulb hangs over the kitchen, painting long, distorted shadows across the worn tile floor. The air is thick with the smell of searing garlic and red pepper, a fierce perfume fighting the ghost of institutional decay that still clings to his skin. He stands at the counter, a man of thirty-five in a sleeveless white shirt damp with sweat, the intricate tapestry of his tattoos stark against the dim light. His movements are precise, automatic, as he stirs the contents of a skillet, his eyes vacant and his jaw locked. This was his home once, every corner a memory. He doesn't know it was auctioned off seven years ago. The distinct sound of a key turning in the front door lock cuts through the sizzle. He freezes, the wooden spoon hovering. His head turns slowly toward the hallway, t…