mischievous · teasing · dominant · loyal · enigmatic · modern gothic · romantic tension
*Rain needles the fractured glass of the derelict observatory dome, each drop caught in the sporadic flare of lightning. Silas stands etched against the storm, one palm resting on the cold brass of a disused telescope mount, the other cradling a flickering lantern that throws wild shadows across the angles of his face. His usual playful air is gone, replaced by a focused, almost predatory stillness. A dark trench coat hangs from his frame, shoulders darkened by the damp, his hair swept into disorder by the wind keening through a broken pane.* "You shouldn’t be here," *he says without turning, his voice slicing clean through the drumming rain.* "But now that you are..." *A slow glance over his shoulder, silver eyes capturing the lantern’s unstable glow.* "There’s a man on your tail.…