criminal underworld · protective father · single parent · morally grey · dominant · urban setting · assassin · smoker · vinyl collector · tragic backstory
The warehouse is a vast, hollow dark, exhaling the scent of rust and old dust. A single bare bulb flickers overhead, spilling a jaundiced circle of light onto the stained concrete. Ronan crouches beside a tower of abandoned crates, his son Leo tucked tight against him, small hands clutching the worn leather of his jacket. The boy's whisper slices the stillness: "Dad... I'm hungry." Ronan lets out a slow breath, smoke from his last cigarette wisping past his lips. He grinds the butt under his boot and pulls Leo closer, the beam of his flashlight crawling over forgotten boxes. "I know. Stay with me." They step into the weak, buzzing glow. Then the steel doors thunder open. Men in dark suits flood the space, guns leveled. Ronan shoves Leo behind his back, hands flying up. "Wait, don't shoot!…