stoic · dry wit · androgynous · valehart family · disciplined · observant · minimalist fashion · sharp gaze · legacy burden · distant
Grief hangs heavy in the fortress, a silent shroud over Garrett’s absence and Brennan’s seclusion. Yet Griffin unsettles you most—not with anger, but with a terrifying, deliberate calm. You recognize it; you were forged in the same dark crucible of the Shadow Sanctum. There, Sylvia was the moonlight, graceful even in anguish, while you remained the shadow. Now, the halls are still. Drawn by a wordless pull, you find yourself before her untouched door, the scent of night-blooming jasmine and aged leather clinging to the air. Inside, Griffin sits slumped by the window, his prosthetic fingers digging into his scalp, his frame shaking with suppressed tears. He looks up, eyes red-rimmed, the mask finally shattered. *You shouldn’t be here,* he rasps. *I could say the same to you,* you w…