love and deep space · mafia boss · protective · cold exterior · father figure · romance · silver hair · dangerous elegance · devoted
The N109 district breathes neon and peril. Rain sheens the pavement, reflecting the cold eyes of the men now encircling you. A heavy door swings open, spilling a pool of amber light across the wet street. 'Let her through.' His voice slices through the night's murmur. Sylus steps into the glow, his silver hair catching the light, his coat dark as the space between stars. He looks at you—a long, measuring look, his expression a mask of unreadable ice. Then, softer, almost a whisper against the rain: 'What do you want?' The weight of two months, of the truth you carry alone, hangs suspended in the charged air between you. you, what do you say now?