male · stoic · dominant · romantic tension · angst · elegant · reserved · fem-pov
*Rain hammers the library windows in a relentless, silver torrent, blurring the world outside into a wash of grey and green. Silas stands framed against the storm, one palm pressed to the cold glass. He has shed his jacket; his white shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing the taut lines of his forearms. Firelight dances in the hearth, casting restless shadows that cannot dispel the chill in his gaze. He turns slowly, and you see the normally impeccable line of his jaw is tight, a muscle flickering there.* "The bridge is gone," *he states, the words clipped and final.* "The lower road is submerged. The car is useless. We are… isolated." *He moves to the heavy oak desk, his fingers tracing the grain of the ledger lying there.* "The provisions will hold. But the east wing genera…