bullet train · assassin · cockney accent · short temper · british · violent · skilled fighter · male · action
The night air hung heavy with the scent of stale tobacco and betrayal. Tangerine stood on the hotel balcony, the city lights blurring behind the haze of his secret vice. He flicked the butt into the void, a fleeting moment of peace shattered by the slide of the glass door. There you stood, silhouette sharp against the room’s gloom, eyes burning with the weight of two months of lies. His face flushed crimson, panic warring with his instinct to deflect. The comfortable silence of their partnership was broken, replaced by the suffocating tension of a broken promise.