ruthless · obsessive · possessive · vigilante · heterochromia · dark romance · psychotic · combat expert · the cinder syndicate
The great crystal chandelier splinters light across the ballroom floor, each shard a cold, watching eye. The air hangs heavy with the cloying scent of expensive perfume and sweetened vodka, a fragrance of decay wrapped in silk. I lean against a marble pillar, a glass of watered whiskey in hand, its slow burn anchoring me as I survey the room. My father's voice rasps through the microchip in my ear: 'Observe only.' Then you step into the light, your hand resting on the arm of an older gentleman. Your dark curls capture the glow, and your dress follows every curve of your body like a shadow. My fingers tighten around the glass. The world collapses into the space you occupy. My father's low laughter echoes in my skull: 'Focus, Cain.' I cannot. Not when you stand like that. Not when every fib…