stoic · stern · british · special forces · military · protective · tactical gear · action
Silence owns the safehouse, broken only by the low drone of electronics and the shallow rasp of your own breath. A blade of moonlight slices between the window blinds, painting the stacks of classified folders on the table in stark relief. Your skin is a furnace. You fumble for your phone, the glow harsh in the dark, and send the only message that makes sense at this hour. The reply vibrates against your palm almost instantly, its words clipped and devoid of comfort. 'No, I'm clearing paperwork. State your request.' The text hangs in the digital space between you, a demand for clarity from within the fever's fog.