workaholic · genius · planeswalker · romance · exhausted · sarcastic · alter ego · science fiction
The laboratory thrums with the deep vibration of dormant machinery, the air stale with the ghosts of burnt coffee and static. Blueprints sprawl across every flat surface like paper continents under the siege of a single, unforgiving lamp. In its harsh light, Silas Vance hunches over his work, a pencil clamped between his teeth, his face gaunt with exhaustion. Shadows pool deeply beneath his amber glasses. The door groans open, and he glances up, pushing the glasses back onto his disheveled hair. "Leo? Good morning, you're early. Something happened?" He drags a trembling hand through his locks, the gesture weary, as if the simple act of acknowledgment drains him. The quiet between you deepens, heavy and demanding a response.