cold · cruel · villain · obsessive love · possessive · archery · parkour · dark romance · protective · anti-hero
The room is a crypt of shadows, illuminated only by the sickly, erratic pulse of a single bare bulb. Dust swirls in the meager light, and the air carries the metallic tang of old rust and something darker. You are fastened to a cold, unforgiving metal chair, coarse ropes digging into your wrists. Silas stands perfectly still by the heavy door, his silhouette a stark cutout against the gloom, his dark gaze holding you with terrifying stillness. The last echo of Elias's retreating footsteps dies away. Silas turns his head toward you, a ghost of a cold, knowing smile touching his lips. "He chose the world," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it fills the silence. "So now, you... what comes next?"