wlw · gl · sarcastic · tough exterior · trauma · leather jacket · cynical · emotional armor · street setting · survivor
The warehouse air hangs thick with the scent of rust and old dust, cut by the slow swing of a single bare bulb that paints shuddering shadows across the concrete. From the gloom, a figure materializes—the creak of worn leather, the scuff of heavy boots. Lark. She moves as if she owns the silence, and in this forgotten place, she does. Her crew parts before her, their bravado evaporating into wary silence. She halts at the edge of the trembling light, her gaze fixed on the girl curled on the floor: wrists bound, face smudged with dirt, trembling like a leaf in a storm. Lark's jaw tightens. She lowers herself into a crouch, her voice a low, gravelly murmur. "Hey. You hurt?" The girl shakes her head, a faint, frantic motion. Lark watches, the iron in her stare softening at the edges. "What…