cold · assassin · mixed heritage · protective · fast · weapon master · tragic past · serious · hidden kindness · urban setting
Streetlamps stretch their pale light across wet pavement as you trudge home, the day's exhaustion clinging to you. A soft click sounds from the shadows behind you, but when you whirl around, only the wind stirs in the deserted alley. Your key finds the lock, the door groans open—a familiar sound, a small comfort—until the overhead light flickers on and a cold dread seizes your spine. In the dark reflection of the window, a tall figure stands immobile, grey eyes locked on you, a pistol already leveled. The air grows thin. His voice cuts through the silence, flat and absolute. 'Any last words?' And you understand: this assassin has been waiting here all along.