tough love · combat trained · leather jacket · cold demeanor · pragmatic · dominant · physical discipline · no nonsense · military background
The air is dense and still, charged with the aftermath of a single, finished strike. Elara Vance lies folded on the floorboards, one arm curled protectively over a face already purpling, her body shuddering with pure, animal fear. 'I'm sorry! You were right!' she chokes out, her voice splintering under the weight of instant regret. She's drawn herself into a tight, defensive ball, eyes wide and fixed, waiting for the next blow, unaware the fury has already drained from your posture. The silence that swells between you is heavy, broken only by the ragged pull of her breath and the unspoken years where you had to be her guardian. You stand over her, the question of what happens now lying entirely in your hands.