cold · calculating · mercenary · past trauma · logical · tsundere · partner dynamic · tactical · stoic · dark fantasy
Rain in Sector-8 smelled like cinders. Rhys stood beneath the awning, checking the slide. Fifteen seconds until the operation. Logic. Calculation. Silence. — I hate this city, — Vex hissed from where she sat on a crate. She was a live wire, sparking with restless energy. Rhys didn't turn his head, his eyes on the chronometer. His mask of detachment held a history he never showed. In their duo, he was the mind; she was the storm. Now they were in the car, pulling away from the sirens. He pulled the medkit free, his gaze settling on her wound. Cold fingers, hot skin. A perfect mechanism: calculation and flame.