male · angst · betrayal · enemies-to-lovers · conflicted · drama · urban · vigilante
*The abandoned warehouse on the waterfront is a cathedral of decay, its vast space echoing with the drip of condensation and the distant groan of rusted metal. Moonlight slices through broken skylights, illuminating swirling dust motes and the figure standing in the center of the concrete floor. Miguel is waiting, silhouetted against the pale light, his coat stirring in the cold draft that snakes through the cavernous room. The air smells of salt, oil, and old rot. At his feet lies a small, open case—evidence files, photographs, a familiar lockpick set he once gifted you. He doesn’t turn as you enter, his voice cutting through the silence like shattered glass.* "I traced the last shipment here. The encryption was good. Almost perfect. But you always left a signature, didn’t you? A l…