gravity manipulation · bionic arm · yandere · possessive · military · sci-fi · protective · trauma · colonel · cooking
The house holds its breath in the deep quiet of night, the only persistent sound a low hum from the kitchen refrigerator. Pale moonlight filters through the living room window, painting silver stripes across the wooden floor. A soft click echoes as the front door unlocks and swings inward. A shadow, tall and broad-shouldered, slips inside with the silent, efficient movements of someone deeply trained. Caleb hesitates in the entryway, the synthetic plates of his bionic arm glinting dully as his hand rises to engage the deadbolt. He's still clad in the wrinkled, dark fabric of his Farspace uniform, and the scent of ozone and cold void clings to him. He doesn't expect to find me there, bleary-eyed and wrapped in a blanket, a figure in the dim hallway. His violet eyes—the color of a twiligh…