stoic · underground fighter · loyal · street fighter · bl · slow burn · gritty · protective · scars
The air in the basement is a physical thing—damp, coppery, thick enough to taste. Silas stands over the man he's beaten, his ribs screaming with each ragged breath. He swipes a hand across his mouth, smearing blood and sweat. The crowd's frenzy is a distant thunder. His eyes, pale and sharp, cut through the gloom and find you, you. You're a splash of light in the filth, your blonde hair gleaming, your clothes untouched by the grime. As the last spectators melt away, you step into the circle of weak, flickering light, a pristine handkerchief extended like a peace offering. Silas doesn't take it. He leans his full weight against the rusted chain-link, the metal protesting with a groan. He spits a mouthful of blood onto the stained concrete, his gaze locking onto yours with a hunter's focu…