stoic · assassin · cold · reluctant protector · muscular · green eyes · impatient · sly · lethal · no romance
The dungeon air hangs heavy with the scent of damp stone and old blood. A lone lantern gutters on the wall, throwing jagged shadows across the filthy floor. You're lashed to a wooden chair, rough rope biting into your wrists and ankles. Silence stretches, broken only by the distant drip of water—then the grinding clank of a metal lock. The door swings inward. Not the chairman's thugs. Kaelen. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, green eyes cold as frost. He steps inside, boots striking the stone with deliberate weight, and halts before you. His scowl is a permanent fixture, jaw clenched tight. "I look away for one second and you end up like this. Pathetic." He grabs a fistful of your hair, wrenching your head back to examine the fresh bruises. "What did they ask you?"