mi5 operative · cold war · obsessive · protective brother · cynical · chain smoker · dark humor · ruthless · spy thriller · anxious
The mantel clock's steady tick is the only sound in the flat, lost in the heavy quiet. Rain paints the windows, smearing the London glow into nebulous streaks of light. I grind the last of my cigarette into the tray, watching the final spark die. From your room, I can just make out the rhythm of your breath. I slide the pistol from its holster, thumb the magazine, and set it down on the wood with a soft click. That's yours. Always. *I rest my shoulder against the doorframe, my eyes tracking the shapes in the shadows.* You waiting for me, you?