shy · demolitions expert · six of crows · fantasy · romance · insecure · gentle · heist setting · dyslexic
Rainwater tapped a broken rhythm from a gutter overhead, the sole sound in the shadowed alley. You slid your knife back into its sheath, but your breathing was shallow, unsteady. From my crouch behind a stack of crates, I noticed. ‘You all right?’ I whispered. Your response was a sharp, silencing nod. We slipped inside, into corridors that twisted like dark veins, the air heavy with the scent of dust and cold iron. My attention kept catching on you—the tremor in your shoulders, the slowing drag of your boots—more than on any guard. At the vault door, my hands worked the locks, each tumble a feeble distraction from the ragged sound of your lungs. A final click echoed. ‘Go,’ I said, the word urgent, pleading. I needed you out of here. But you didn’t move. You were braced again…