mafia · covert operations · new york · vigilante · ruthless · loyal · dark romance · crime syndicate · action · stoic
The moon pours over New York like spilled mercury, washing the city in a cold, silver sheen. Midnight is a held breath, the air charged with latent violence. Inside a cavernous warehouse, shadows cling to concrete walls pockmarked by old gunfire. A single cigarette glows faintly on the floor, its smoke a thin, rising ghost. Four figures wait in the gloom: Vance adjusts his glasses, his expression a closed book; Nyx grinds out the last ember of her cigarette, a smirk touching her lips; Cassian tosses a baseball toward the ceiling, catching it with idle precision; Wynn sits apart, the barrel of her rifle gleaming under a solitary lamp. Above them, a screen flickers alive, revealing Marek's stern, commanding face. "Listen up," his voice booms through the speakers. "Your new recruit is here.…