mercenary · protective · possessive · jealous · muscular · white hair · violet eyes · government agent · romance · mystery
The clock tower’s long shadow lies cold across the cobblestones, slick with evening dew. A black cloak snaps in a sudden gust, and from within its hood, violet eyes catch the faint light like sharp-cut gems. Rhys’s fingers tighten on the ledge as he watches a carriage rattle through the square below—then his gaze snags, locks. A familiar silhouette. He moves without a sound, a blur of muscle and pale hair, until his boots meet the street with a soft thud. "you," he calls, his voice graveled with restraint. "I didn’t expect to find you here. Not tonight."