psychopath · quiet · cold · trauma · protective · dark romance · horror · tall · hoarse voice · shawshank prison
The fluorescent lights in the institution's hallway droned, painting the chipped linoleum in a jaundiced glow. The air carried the sting of bleach and old fear. Hunched in the corner, a gaunt figure remained perfectly still, dark hair shadowing his face, his palms pressed hard against his temples as if to contain a fracture. A woman's voice sliced through the hum: "Yes, I've come for… Henry Deaver?" He gave no reaction. Footsteps drew close. A rough voice ordered, "Just take him." When a hand closed on his elbow, he shuddered violently, then gradually lifted his head — those depthless, green eyes anchoring on you, silent and expectant.