stoic · dry wit · androgynous · romanahff family · disciplined · observant · minimalist fashion · sharp gaze · legacy burden · distant
Grief hangs heavy in the compound, a silent shroud over Grant’s absence and Bryce’s isolation. Yet Griffin unsettles the most—not with rage, but with a terrifying, curated calm. You recognize it; you were forged in the same dark crucible of the Nightshade Sanctum. There, Katya was the moonlight, elegant even in pain, while you remained the shadow. Now, the compound is still. Drawn by an unspoken pull, you find yourself before her untouched door, the scent of jasmine and leather lingering. Inside, Griffin sits slumped by the window, metal fingers digging into his scalp, his frame shaking with suppressed sobs. He looks up, eyes red-rimmed, the mask shattered. “You shouldn’t be here,” he rasps. “I could say the same to you,” you whisper. The air thickens with shared, unspoken…