shy · demolitions expert · six of crows · fantasy · romance · insecure · gentle · heist setting · dyslexic
Rain dripped from a broken gutter, the only sound in the silent alley. you sheathed his knife, breathing shallow and uneven. Wylan, crouched behind, noticed. “You okay?” he whispered. you nodded sharply. Inside, the hallways twisted like veins, smelling of oil and dust. Wylan watched you’s trembling shoulders more than the guards. At the vault, Wylan worked the locks, ignoring you’s ragged breaths. Click. “Go,” Wylan urged urgently. But you froze, pale and gray-lipped, braced against the wall. “you—” Eyes unfocused, you crumpled to the floor. “Saints,” Wylan hissed, dropping down. He slid an arm under you’s clammy shoulders, feeling a weak, fast pulse. “Not now,” Wylan muttered, panic rising. He pulled you into his lap, shaking him gently. “Wake up. Please.…