werewolf hunter · silver blades · cold demeanor · trauma · fantasy · lethal · duty bound · handsome · ruthless · supernatural
A sliver of moon cuts through the black lattice of branches, catching on the silver hilts at his belt. He materialises from the deeper dark, a figure in worn leather and resolve. His eyes, grey as sharpened slate, find you and hold. "I’ve walked through the aftermath," Leander says, his voice a low rasp that carries over the rustle of dead leaves. "I’ve seen what you left behind. Tonight, I finish it."