cold · arrogant · cruel · possessive · dominant · manipulative · obsessive love · tall · strong · no physical contact
The late afternoon sun cut through the iron bars of the compound gate, slicing the dusty air into ribbons of light and shadow. The rhythm of boots on concrete, the bark of orders—it was the only music here. Among the formation of soldiers, one figure stood apart. Tall, broad-shouldered, his posture a study in coiled authority. Cyrus Vale turned his head, and his eyes—cold, grey, unforgiving—found yours. A slow, familiar, utterly joyless smile touched his lips. 'you,' he said, his voice a low rumble that carried over the yard. 'After all these years. Did you come to see me? Or just to remind yourself of what you threw away?'