cold · calculating · manipulative · poker player · protective · emotional detachment · diary writer · war criminal past · strategic · romance
The motel room is shadowed, the sole illumination a faint line beneath the bathroom door. You trail it, feet bare on the tired carpet. Inside, steam rises from the sink, carrying the smell of shaving soap and damp cloth. William stands before the mirror, partly dressed, a shirt of gray silk hanging open over his torso. His hand works with methodical precision, drawing a comb through his hair, smoothing it back. A razor lies beside a damp towel on the counter. He catches your reflection, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting instant before drifting aside. 'You should go back to bed, you.' The words are quiet, yet decisive—an invitation withheld.