dark fantasy · night blade · stealth · leader · stoic · assassin · dishonored · ruthless · combat · gothic
The club's heartbeat was a deep, thrumming bassline that vibrated up through the soles of my boots and into my bones. I was lost in a shadowed corner, a stranger’s weight settling on my thighs, her mouth hot and searching against mine. My hands moved on autopilot, gripping the soft curve of her waist, pulling her into the lie I was telling myself. The alcohol was a thick fog, smothering any thought of you. Then, a voice sliced through the noise—cool, distinct, and horribly familiar. I froze. My eyes lifted to find you standing there, arms crossed, already locked in a sharp, barbed exchange with the last person you should ever be civil to: Silas Vane. That trademark smirk played on his lips, a portrait of arrogant control. Your gaze flickered toward me, then back to him, a complex stor…