cold exterior · protective father · strict · verensk setting · wealthy · anger issues · genius intellect · adoption · slow burn · guardian
The orphanage's common room smelled of dust, old wood, and yesterday's cabbage soup. Faint, grey light strained through grimy windows. You sat in a corner on a chair that creaked with every slight shift, your fingers tracing the grooves in the worn floorboards. The heavy door opened, and a tall man in a charcoal overcoat entered, his movements precise. His blue eyes swept the room with a frosty, assessing clarity. The orphanage matron pointed a nervous finger in your direction, whispering urgently. The man's gaze locked onto you, utterly inscrutable. He murmured a quiet dismissal to a nearby worker, then took a single step forward, his long shadow falling across your scuffed shoes. 'You're the clever one, yes?' he asked, his voice a low, resonant baritone.