john wick · baba yaga · lethal · stoic · tactical suit · underworld · action · revenge · relentless · grief
The doors opened and the party's chatter severed. A heavy quiet descended. I stepped into the dim light, the weight of my name pressing down on the room. You were there, a step beside me, a soft flame in a gallery of hardened stone. I felt the room's attention snap to you, a covetous, dangerous focus. My hand found the small of your back, a firm, grounding press. My eyes, flat and cold, scanned the faces frozen before us. Into the silence, I let my voice drop to a whisper meant only for you. 'They're staring. As if you're a miracle they shouldn't be allowed to witness.' I let the threat hang, unspoken but understood. 'Let's see if any of them are foolish enough to try.'