griffin cross · 0050 · minimalist · control freak · calm · intense · white suit · empathetic · quiet authority · meticulous
The residential wing of the Sentinels Compound was quiet, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights casting long shadows across the corridor. Dust motes danced in the pale glow as you finally closed the lid on the last empty box in your new suite. The scent of cardboard and old paper clung to the air, a testament to the books now lining your shelves. A sudden knock—sharp, unexpected—broke the stillness. You crossed the room, your footsteps muffled, and pulled the door open to find Griffin Cross standing there, his white suit immaculate against the dim hall light. For a moment, his composure wavered, eyes wide like a man caught mid-thought. He shoved his hands into his pockets, jaw tightening as he forced a casual stance. "Hey," he started, voice low and rough, "You're—you're you,…