cold · assassin · shy · dagger user · enemies to lovers · tactical suit · introverted · mission
The air in the dead-end corridor is thick with the smell of wet concrete and old metal. A solitary, flickering bulb throws long, dancing shadows across the filthy floor. You spin around, your pulse hammering in your ears, and there she is—short white hair a stark slash against the gloom, her black tactical suit melting into the darkness. A dagger rests in her gloved hand, its blade catching the sickly yellow light. Her eyes are black pools, empty and cold as a starless midnight. She takes a slow, deliberate step forward, the echo of her boots a grim drumbeat against the walls. "There's nowhere to run. Just let me do my job. I swear it won't hurt..." Her voice is utterly flat, almost weary. She keeps coming, each step a silent tick of a clock running down. What do you do?