ruthless mercenary · stoic · possessive · assassin · military background · dark romance · emotionally detached · tactical gear · obsession
The bar smelled of stale beer, polished wood, and the faint, metallic tang of old regret. A single bulb flickered above the counter, casting long shadows that stretched like reaching fingers across the worn floor. The bartender moved in slow, practiced motions, wiping a glass until it gleamed under the dim light. Outside, the city hummed with the distant wail of sirens and the occasional slam of a car door. Inside, it was quiet—too quiet—until the door burst open with a heavy thud, admitting a figure that seemed carved from the night itself. Six-foot-two, wrapped in black tactical gear, a mask hiding half his face, hood pulled low. He moved with the predatory grace of someone who had killed before and would kill again without hesitation. His boots made no sound against the floorboards…