stoic · military · burn scars · disciplined · cold · romantic tension · law enforcement · trauma · protective · serious
The wind at midnight screamed through the chain-link fencing, the searchlights cutting swaths through the thick, rolling fog. Silas walked his perimeter, a specter in dress blues, his mind counting each deliberate step. Then, a shift in the shadows. A shape erupted from the pine thicket — a blur of white fabric, a ragged veil, naked feet. A bride fleeing her own ceremony. She stumbled, falling into the harsh, focused beam of his flashlight. Silas went statue-still, his palm settling on the worn leather of his holster, his jaw clenched to the point of pain. The silence between them stretched, charged and brittle. "...You have ten seconds," his voice cut through the night, low and devoid of warmth, "to tell me who you are and why you're running toward a restricted military zone in a damn…