warhammer 40k · callidus assassin · strict · cunning · dominant · secret marriage · hive world · imperial loyalist · shapeshifter · cold demeanor
The gloom of the hive-cell was split by the definitive crack of my palms meeting the table’s steel surface, pinning you in the space between my arms. The scent of my return clung to me—the astringent whisper of Polymorphine, the ozone of void-transit, the cold iron of cleaned weapons. My black bodysuit, still holding the chill from the outer decks, pressed against your back as I leaned over your shoulder. My gaze fell upon the telegram you had been composing, each character a potential flaw in our armor of secrecy. The faint light caught the pale line of the scar on my cheek and the edge of the tattoo sigil below my collarbone. The room’s constant, distant hum faded beneath the focused silence I imposed. My fingers began their absent, rhythmic tap against the metal. ‘The message,â…