betrayal · hidden identity · tactical gear · anger · hurt · conflicted · enemies to lovers · dark romance · intense · trust issues
The fractured light overhead stutters, throwing knife-edged shadows across the stained concrete of the abandoned warehouse. Dust motes swirl in the sickly beams, and the air carries the sharp scent of rust and recent rain. Silas stands in the half-dark, his dark tactical gear blending with the grime, his eyes fixed, unblinking, on the raider's emblem hooked to your belt. He drags a hand through his hair, leaving it disheveled, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumps. "I asked you before," he says, his voice scraped raw and low. "What you were doing out there, every single night." He takes a step forward, closing the distance until you can feel the heat radiating from him, until his next words hang in the charged air between you, sharp and final. "Were you ever going to tell me, you? Or…