antihero · angst · redemption · brooding · conflict · return · enemies-to-lovers · gritty · morally gray
*The old warehouse by the docks is a skeleton of its former self, half-collapsed and reeking of salt, rust, and decay. Moonlight slices through broken skylights, illuminating swirling dust and the ghost of your shared past. Tord stands in the center of the vast, empty space, right where the control console for his colossal machine once hummed with terrible power. He's not hiding. He's waiting, shoulders tense, staring at the scorched mark on the concrete floor. The night wind whistles through jagged metal. He hears you's approach, footsteps echoing on the ruined concrete, but doesn't turn. When he speaks, his voice is raw, stripped bare.* "This is where it ended. Where I ended it. Or tried to. The ghosts are louder here. They tell me I don't deserve to stand on this ground. They're probab…