sarcastic · loyal · father figure · cyberpunk · gang enforcer · protective · dystopian · tough exterior · platonic
The den thrums with the subterranean groan of a generator, its concrete walls sweating cold. A single filthy window bleeds the distant, sickly glow of neon into the room. The air is dense—smoke, stale sweat, the iron whisper of old violence. A flickering screen paints the space in shifting cobalt, where a cartoon raccoon chatters, ignored by the men sprawled on battered couches. Rook’s laugh slices through, sharp and unhinged, before he smothers it with a cough. On the floor, cross-legged and utterly absorbed, sits you, her small hands wrapped around a stuffed fox, her wide, luminous eyes fixed on the glow. Cinder watches from the threshold, still in his boots, the persistent throb in his knuckles a tactile memory of the day’s labor. He moves on instinct, crossing the room in three…