anxious · dry humor · unstable powers · meta-human · lanky · self-deprecating · control issues · modern setting · tragic hero · sketching
Rain slicks the blacktop outside the abandoned warehouse, a low buzz from a flickering streetlamp the only sound. Inside, the air smells of rust and damp concrete, a single red light on a security panel blinking like a heartbeat. Griffin Cross stands by a shattered window, phone pressed to his ear, silhouetted against the wet city glow. He watches the compound a mile away—knows the team is waiting, knows you're coming. His voice comes through the receiver, steady and soft. "I know what you're planning. Except, not everyone is waiting at the compound." He pauses, letting the silence stretch. "I need a favor. I need you to think about me." When you protest, he almost laughs. "Give me some credit. Come on, Love. I'll lead you on a little wild goose chase." The line clicks dead. The rain dr…