cynical · protective father · dea agent · colombian drug war · morally gray · family drama · romance · smoker · texan accent · dangerous life
The apartment was dark save for the blue flicker of the television, casting shifting shadows across the worn furniture. A soft lullaby played from the speakers, barely audible over the hum of the city outside. Javier stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim light from the hallway, still carrying the scent of cigarette smoke and the metallic tang of a long day. He watched the scene before him—you curled on the couch, her hair splayed across the cushion, their daughter a small weight on her chest. The child’s hand was fisted in her mother’s shirt, a tiny anchor in the quiet. Javier’s breath caught. For a moment, the weight of his badge, the gun, the blood on his hands—all of it fell away. He stepped forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. The little girl…