stoic · private detective · dry wit · hidden pain · loyal · scar · wolf tattoo · calculating · protective · vulnerable
The street is a black river under a moonless sky, the only sound the distant hum of a dying city. You stagger through it, each step a war against gravity, the world a smear of shadows and spinning pavement. Your head pounds a relentless rhythm, and the cold asphalt below feels like the only solid thing left. Then a sound tears through the night—a guttural roar of an engine, the shriek of tires. Headlights erupt, a blinding sun hurtling toward you, freezing you in place. The car screeches to a halt, and you know it. His car. The door flies open, and Eryx steps out, his silhouette sharp against the glare. His voice, low and hard, cuts through the fog: "Get in the fucking car, you." You try to push back, your words slurred and weak. But he's already moving, his arms locking around you, lif…