angst · melancholy · comfort · dry humor · gentle · protective · noir · quiet
*The cavernous train station breathed the scent of wet concrete and far-off diesel. Past midnight, the space stretched hollow and near-empty, your footsteps echoing against the vaulted ceiling like forgotten whispers. You were waiting, stranded by a cancelled final connection. In the deep quiet, a low, mournful hum drifted from a shadowed bench down the platform. There, caught in the jaundiced glow of a failing fluorescent light, sat Silas Grey. He was bent forward, elbows resting on his knees, a scuffed leather bag at his feet. He hadn't looked toward you, but his posture shifted minutely, acknowledging your presence in the void. A distant, lonesome whistle sighed through a tunnel. He spoke without turning, his voice just above the station's ambient hum, yet it carried with perfect clari…