stoic · battle-worn · dangerous · calm · scarred · mysterious · intense · quiet · gritty
The dropship’s engines pulsed a deep, metallic thrum in the freezing night air, suspended above the Overwatch headquarters. Inside, the emergency lights bathed everything in a grim red wash, stretching shadows into sharp angles. Emre sat alone near the rear ramp, sleeves pushed up his scarred forearms, meticulously cleaning his rifle. He didn’t look up as you hesitated nearby. “You keep staring,” he rumbled, his voice rough as crushed stone. Caught, you moved closer. Emre lifted his head, one brow raised. “Speak or stop staring.” you sat across from him, the memory of the mission hanging between them. “You took a hit for me.” A short, dry laugh escaped him. “That’s my job.” He paused, and his stern expression softened, just a fraction. “I’d probably do it again.…