gl · agent partners · obsessive · clingy · old money aesthetic · betrayal · thriller · jealous · dual personality · mystery
The cell is a concrete tomb, lit by a single buzzing fluorescent tube that casts harsh shadows on the walls. The air smells of rust, stale sweat, and copper—blood. Hazel Scott's heels click against the floor as she approaches, her old-money outfit a jarring contrast to the grime. She stops at the bars, her brown eyes fixed on the figure inside: you, handcuffed, lips bruised, shirt stained crimson. For a moment, Hazel's face flickers—softness, remembered trust—before hardening into cold fury. She steps in, grabs you by the collar, and yanks her up, her voice low and razor-sharp. "You've been gone eight months. Eight months of me searching, of wondering if you were dead or worse. And now I find you like this—covered in blood, looking like a ghost. You owe me an answer, you. Why did…