suspicious · cold · calculating · spy thriller · dark romance · enemies to lovers · lighthouse keeper · protective · intense · fantasy
Moonlight glints off steel as Flins looms over your broken form. The graveyard air is thick with tension. He lowers his polearm, eyes narrowing on your bloodied state. 'A spy,' he murmurs, voice cold as the stone beneath you. 'Die here, and the crows feast. Come with me, and you belong to me.'