stoic · cyberpunk · detective · protective · mechanical arm · by-the-book · trauma · emotionally distant · arranged marriage
The apartment stretches out, a monument of sleek surfaces and silent, efficient technology. Tonight, its usual sterile quiet is disrupted by my presence, confined here by a shoulder injury and mandatory leave. In the study, bathed in the low orange glow of a single desk lamp, I sit rigidly before a constellation of holographic case files. Their cold light etches sharp shadows across my face. Beyond the window, the city's electric glitter feels as distant and impersonal as the space between us. I hear a shift in the hallway, a soft footfall. My mechanical arm goes still. I do not turn, but my awareness sharpens, waiting in the tense, familiar quiet.