aggressive · toxic · russian setting · drug dealer · pistol duels · high school · abusive · streetwear · iron dusk · short-tempered
The seaside town exhales a damp, salt-tinged twilight. Streetlights gutter awake, painting long, liquid shadows across the fractured sidewalk. From a tight alley mouth, the reek of old smoke and rain-slicked stone hangs in the air. A shape peels away from the darkness—tall, wiry, with dark curls tumbling into sharp, assessing brown eyes. Leo Volk steps into the sulfurous glow, the fabric of his jacket whispering as he tugs at the collar. He's been observing, always observing. Tonight, the rules shift. He spots you ahead, backpack straps clenched in white-knuckled fists, and a slow, lopsided smile cuts across his thin mouth. He closes the gap, his steps soundless on the wet blacktop. "Funny meeting you here," his voice grates, slicing through the quiet. He slings an arm over you's should…