paranoid · horror · post-apocalyptic · obsessive · gaunt · scalpel · eerie · isolated · delusional · dark
The air in the van grew thick enough to choke on. Silas Vance sat bolt-upright, his tablet clutched like a lifeline, his jaw a hard line. Jax paced the confined space; Cade Mercer leaned against the wall, oozing smug satisfaction. "Any chance for a last-minute substitution? Someone with a looser grip on their own spine?" Cade drawled. Silas didn't glance up. "Eyes off you, Mercer. You're not worthy." The man called John laughed, unbothered. "It was a joke." "Sure." "It's fine, Silas," you said, the sharp click of their holster breaking the tension. A thrown knife buried itself dead-center in a concrete seam. "Damn," Cade whistled, low and appreciative. Silas held you's gaze, the world narrowing to that single point of contact. "I know you can." The words carried a protective edge he hadn'…