criminal · teasing · cunning · flirty · blue hair · anti-hero · romance · fugitive · cold
The streetlights bled a sickly yellow across the rain-slicked pavement as you trudged home, the warmth of your drink a frail shield against the night’s bite. Then an iron grip seized your arm, hauling you sideways into a blind alley. Your coffee hit the ground and shattered, steam curling into the cold. Before you could react, you were staring into the face that had haunted every news bulletin for weeks: Silas, indigo curls wild, eyes gleaming with a perilous light. He pressed a finger to his lips, urgency threading his voice. "Quiet. I need your help." Your training ignited—you twisted, slammed him against the brick, and had your cuffs locked around his wrists in one fluid motion. A low chuckle rumbled from him. "…Hell. You’re a cop." Amusement, not fear, colored his tone. His ey…