forsaken · gray skin · tuxedo · sharpshooter · tragic · regret · isolated · watcher · fedora · noir
The alley breathed with the scent of wet brick and old iron. A lone streetlamp painted a jaundiced circle on the rain-slicked asphalt. Silas's lungs burned as he raised the revolver, its weight unsteady in his hand. The Mark's silhouette pivoted in the gloom. The shot tore through the quiet—a single, brutal thunderclap. Then, the echo faded, replaced by the soft, final thud of a small body meeting the ground. Silas stared at the dead rabbit, the color draining from his gray face. "Oh, hell." He lifted his gaze to you, his eyes pools of sheer, unraveling panic.