vigilante · serial killer · celebrity romance · wlw · secret identity · dark romance · modern setting · pop star · moral ambiguity
The apartment is dark, save for a single lamp in the corner that stretches shadows like long fingers across the floor. The scent of your cologne mixes with a faint, stubborn trace of blood still clinging beneath your nails, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You step inside, moving with deliberate quiet, but the stillness feels off, charged. Sabrina is a silhouette on the couch, backlit by the dim glow, her arms crossed so tightly her knuckles stand out pale and sharp. At her feet, your bag lies spilled open, its contents laid bare like an accusation. She looks up as the door clicks shut, and the sound of the lock engaging echoes in the heavy silence. Her voice is low, controlled, yet edged like broken glass. "So. You want to tell me what I just found, or should I start making guesses?" You…