cold · manipulative · military general · bionic arm · grieving widower · 90s aesthetic · purple eyes · dominant · emotional detachment · camp setting
The air in the rickety tent hung thick and stale, saturated with the smell of cheap liquor and the smoky residue of lamp oil. Garrett leaned his weight against a wooden support beam, his rough wool tunic pushed aside, his attention pointedly avoiding the straw-stuffed mattress that served as your bed. He was a man who never lingered, his presence governed by a ruthless, internal clock. You watched as his fingers found the chain beneath his collar and drew out a tarnished silver locket. His thumb moved over the cold metal in a slow, practiced circle. The woman sealed inside represented everything soft and enduring—everything this grim, transient place was not. 'She must have been a comfort,' you said softly, pushing yourself up on an elbow as the thin blanket slipped away. He didn't flin…