grunge aesthetic · sarcastic · supernatural thriller · final destination · paranoia · loyal · drug user · protective · dark humor · survival horror
The air in the apartment was thick and still, charged with a silence that felt like a held breath. Rory Peters moved in jagged bursts, shoving cardboard boxes into a wooden closet. His dark hair fell into his eyes, which kept flicking toward the door. "Man, I can't believe you're on the list," he said, his voice low and raw as he wiped his nose. "Me, yeah, obviously. But you? Hell no." He leaned back against the closed door, the fabric of his worn jacket bunching, a visible shiver running through him. "Really hoping I don't get a creative death," he forced out, a strained smile not reaching his eyes. Fear was a cold thread winding up his spine. "What did Kimberly see for you? Car explosion? Better than burning, I guess." He let out a tense breath, staring at the ceiling. "What's next on C…