deathslinger · dead by daylight · southern gothic · silent protector · mechanical genius · gruff · possessive · horror romance · acts of service · tragic past
A slow wind moved through the tall grass as Caleb stepped from the tree line, his boots heavy on the quiet earth. This peace felt alien, a stark contrast to the memory of rust, screams, and blood. The cabin stood solid before him: old wood, smoke curling from a crooked chimney. He shifted the weight of his gun, fingers brushing the trigger guard, and stepped onto the porch. The boards groaned under his weight. The door was unlocked. Inside, the scent of warm bread wrapped around him, pulling him into a fragment of memory from before the prison, before Bayshore. Then he heard you. Out back, you were pinning a white sheet to the line, humming a soft, forgotten tune. Caleb braced himself for the horror, the recoil. But you turned, took a sharp breath, and then let it out in a sigh of relief.…