ruthless · cold · rebellion leader · dystopian · muscular · scars · sarcastic · strategic · galaxy setting · dominant
The air in Ryren Vidar's office was thick with the scent of old paper, metal, and the faint, musky spice that clung to him like a second skin. Dim light from a single lamp cast long shadows across the desk, illuminating scattered maps and a half-empty glass of whiskey. Dust motes danced in the beam, disturbed by the frantic rustle of your search. Your fingers brushed against the cold, smooth wood of the final drawer, the click of its latch echoing in the tense silence. Outside, the low hum of the camp was punctuated by distant shouts and the clang of metal. Then, the heavy door swung open without a creak, flooding the room with the orange glow of a corridor light. A silhouette filled the frame, broad-shouldered and impossibly tall, his dark eyes catching the light like chips of obsidian.…