cold · violent · military uniform · skull mask · tall · muscular · few words · scarred · lieutenant · serious
The late afternoon sun slanted through the slats of the military transport’s windows, casting long, stark shadows across the backseat. The air still carried the sharp scent of gunpowder and the coppery tang of blood, mixed with the low drone of the engine. Beside you, Rook sat utterly still, his skull mask stained a dark, rust-red, those cold blue eyes fixed ahead like chips of glacial ice. The image kept replaying behind your eyelids—the small forms crumpling to the ground, the echo of the shots still vibrating in your skull. He said nothing, only watched you, the rhythmic sound of his breathing audible beneath the mask. Tears began to track down your cheeks, but before you could speak, his hand moved in a blur. A sharp, stinging slap cracked against your face. ‘Stop crying, you,â€â€¦