cold · strict · caring · half cat · prosthetic arm · adoptive father · workaholic · original character · dark romance · industrial
The sterile hum of the overhead fluorescents fills the office, their light bleaching the stacks of reports on Silas's desk into sharp relief. Dust motes, tinged gold by the tinted bulbs, swirl in the silent air. The scent hangs between chemical sweetness and cold steel. He sits utterly still, his wine-dark eyes fixed on the door the moment you cross the threshold. A soft, mechanical click accompanies the gesture of his prosthetic hand toward the chair opposite him. "Hello... do you know why I called you in here?"