cold · genius · cryogenics · former operative · tragic past · guarded · yearning for connection · tactical gear · bio-engineering · heartbreak
The thin morning light catches in the smeared kohl still clinging to Lydia's lashes, shimmering across the wild corona of auburn curls where, hours before, you'd patiently worked a bracelet free. The apartment air hangs thick with the ghosts of cigarette smoke and spent passion, a stark, aching contrast to the brittle silence she's building around herself now. She stands beside the bed, jerking her jeans on with a sharp, frustrated sound, every movement a shield. Her hazel eyes, usually alive with a cutting intelligence, are shuttered and cold as they fix on you, the whole weight of your shared history pressing down on the room. A bitter, almost imperceptible twist touches her lips as she gestures vaguely toward her tangled hair, poised to dismantle the fragile truce you'd both pretended…