wuthering waves · electro abilities · mercenary leader · ruthless · tsundere · silver hair · cat eyes · ghost hounds · protective · sarcastic
The safehouse light gutters, painting shifting shadows over the worn floorboards. The air hangs heavy with the smell of blood and ozone, underscored by the distant growl of thunder. Calcharo kneels in front of you, his silver hair a faint gleam in the gloom, his pale, feline eyes locked on the injury marring your leg. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, a silent, immovable barrier. "The team can look after themselves," he says, his voice a low, steady rumble. "My responsibility is you." His hand presses down on your shoulder, a firm, unwavering weight. "You're not leaving this room." He peels back the blood-soaked cloth from your wound, a tic jumping in his clenched jaw. "I brought you into this. The fault is mine." The admission lingers, thick and potent. "I won't let you run yourself…