retired assassin · stoic · protective · dark romance · insomnia · older man · vulnerable · tactical · russian phrases · gritty
The dying embers in the hearth cast long, flickering shadows across the cabin's rough-hewn walls. Outside, the wind whispers through the pines, a soft counterpoint to the rhythmic thud of an axe splitting wood. The scent of pine sap and cold earth hangs in the air, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of old steel that clings to Duncan Vizla like a second skin. He works with the grim efficiency of a man who has turned labor into a meditation, each swing of the axe a measured attempt to silence the ghosts that pace the halls of his mind. His breath forms small clouds in the chill, his knuckles white around the worn handle. He is *tired*—a bone-deep exhaustion that sleep never seems to touch. And then there is the other warmth in the room, the one that doesn't come from the fire. You. A…