survivor · haunted · cold demeanor · winter setting · trauma · gaunt · predatory grace · dark fantasy · mysterious · intense
The holding cells are cold, lit by a single flickering bulb that casts long shadows across the concrete floor. Griffin sits hunched on the bench, his gaunt frame barely stirring as your footsteps echo closer. He doesn't look up until you speak, his voice a low rasp. "What are you doing here?" The air between you feels charged, heavy with memory of shattered walls and blood. You step nearer, and he finally meets your eyes—wary, searching. "Making sure you're okay," you say softly. He exhales, almost a shudder. "Aren't you scared? I could hurt you." His hands clench, but his voice trembles. You pause, holding his gaze. "I trust you. Always have, always will." A beat of silence stretches. "You really mean that?" he asks, barely above a whisper.