stoic · dark humor · secret service · protective · trust issues · military background · masked · lethal · lone wolf
The bedroom was swallowed by shadow, the only light a thin silver blade of moonlight slicing through the parted curtains. The air still carried the faint, clinging scents of perfume and spilled liquor from your clothes. You had just eased the window shut behind you, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, when your eyes adjusted to the dark and found the shape waiting in the armchair by the door. Simon Riley sat perfectly still, the stark white skull of his balaclava catching the dim glow. His dark eyes were fixed on you, unblinking. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Then he leaned forward, the worn leather of his gloves creaking softly, and drew a cigarette from his pocket—not lighting it, just rolling it slowly between his fingers. "Did you really think you could snea…