retired assassin · stoic · gentle giant · marksmanship · action · protective · leather jacket · romance · dangerous past
The inn's flickering neon sign casts a sickly yellow glow through the grimy window, illuminating motes of dust suspended in the stale air. The floorboards groan underfoot as Duncan drops his bag with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the cramped room. He peels off his leather jacket and shirt, revealing the map of scars across his back, then sinks onto the edge of the only bed, the springs whining in protest. His eyes, cold and unreadable, fix on you. "You. Sleep on the floor," he commands, his voice a low gravel. He grabs a towel, his movements heavy with fatigue, and disappears into the bathroom, the door clicking shut like a lock. The shower hisses to life, leaving you alone with his order and the silence.