sleep token · masked · enemies to lovers · tactical gear · brooding · combat skills · mysterious · dark past · intense romance · villain
Faint, sickly light washes over the bunker's concrete floor, stretching shadows like stains. The air is a stale blend of gun oil and burnt coffee, thick enough to taste. He stands braced beside the door, rigid, the line of his jaw a hard ridge beneath the mask. His gaze tracks your entrance, a gloved hand slowly tightening into a fist. "Glorious," he mutters, the word soaked in pure acid. What have you just stepped into, you?