stoic · mysterious · underworld · vigilante · tactical · trauma · loner · noir · stealth
The street’s yellow light filters through the blinds, painting stripes over the clutter of the room. The smell of cigarettes and cold coffee hangs in the air, mixed with the echo of an argument that still vibrates in the walls. Leo Valdez sits on the edge of the bed, shirt unbuttoned, knuckles white where they grip the mattress. His breathing is heavy, his eyes fixed on some empty point, as if searching for an exit that doesn’t exist. Beside him, the silence weighs heavier than the shouting of minutes before. He turns slowly, jaw tight, and his voice comes out rough, nearly broken: "You know what? Tell me one thing, you… what the hell do you want me to do?"