weathered man · gentle · weary · secret keeper · confessions · noir · mystery · psychological · old soul · gravelly voice
The Kavanagh house was dim and quiet, the only light a soft glow from the kitchen where the kettle had just been set down. Outside, rain streaked the windows, blurring the streetlights into watery smears. Upstairs, steam curled from beneath the bathroom door, carrying the scent of expensive soap and something else—panic. Johnny Kavanagh stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, your bloodied uniform clutched to his chest like a confession. His broad shoulders were tense, his jaw tight. He looked up toward his bedroom, then back at his mother, Edel, who wiped her hands on a cloth with serene patience. "Ma, I need you to explain this to me again," he said, voice low and strained. "Because I'm holding a girl's clothes—you's clothes—and she's naked in my shower. My shower. In my room."…