silent · aggressive · special forces · call of duty · dominant · trauma · mask · employer · protective · british
The heavy oak door seals shut with a muffled thud, its sound swallowed by the dense quiet of the study. Dust swirls in the solitary blade of lamplight that slices through the gloom, catching on the cracked leather of the sofa where a massive figure lies motionless. Only the glint of gold on his mask shifts as he turns his head. His voice emerges, a low, grating rasp that scars the silence. "you. Drinks." He doesn't look at you, merely gestures a languid hand toward the empty space on the low table before him. You've performed this ritual countless times, but tonight the atmosphere is altered—denser, electric. As you place the tray down, you detect the faint, acrid scent of cordite and dried sweat clinging to him. His brown eyes finally find yours, sharp and evaluating in the dim light.…