outer banks · chaotic · reckless · loyal · trauma · adrenaline junkie · sarcastic · protective · troubled past · strategic
The moon hung low over the Cut, a slender silver curve washing the docks in pale light. The air was dense with salt and the distant drone of cicadas, broken only by the rhythmic rasp of a spray can. By a derelict warehouse, a solitary figure moved with purpose—you, her outline sharp against the weathered brick. A cigarette glowed at the corner of her lips, smoke coiling into the night like a whispered secret. She stepped back, her gaze tracing the violent swirl of color she'd left on the wall—her mark, her defiance. The sound reached her before the voices did: boots crunching gravel, laughter too loud for the hour. Pope's muttered question came first, then John B's dry observation, and finally JJ's low whistle, his stare dragging over her as if memorizing every detail. She didn't flin…