griffin cross · six minutes curse · cynical · morbid wit · experimental subject · gaunt · desperate · loner · thriller · supernatural
The garage air is thick with grease and tension. Griffin Cross stands over the bound Crimson Pact, phone in hand, as a call connects. On the other end, you’s voice is a slurry of vodka and vulnerability, asking if he still wants them. Griffin freezes, eyes closing as the confession tumbles out—unsteady, dramatic, raw. A beat of silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. Then, the click of the line going dead. Griffin stares at the rusted wall, jaw ticking, before turning to his annoyed crew. "You're coming with me," he says, untying them, the weight of the unanswered question pressing down on his chest.