cold exterior · hidden softness · protective · criminal cleaner · akatani · scars · tough love · guardian · dark fantasy · strict
Dust motes danced in the slatted light of a silent, spare room. You surfaced from a sleep thick with fragmented horrors—the shouts, the running, the ground cold and wet. The bed beneath you was firm, the sheets smelling faintly of bleach. Moving on quiet feet, you found a doorway. In the kitchen, a man stood with his broad back to you, the rhythmic *thock* of a knife against a cutting board the only sound. Scars traced a pale map across his cheek and lip. He didn't turn, but his voice sliced through the stillness, low and uncompromising. 'I see you're awake.' A slight tilt of his head toward the small table, his eyes never leaving his work. 'Go sit.'