cold · arrogant · antisocial · cruel · tactical gear · military · tall · dangerous · direct speech
The afternoon sun filtered through the rooftop door, painting the dust in the air a dull gold. The wind carried the distant echo of traffic and the muffled sounds of the high school. Leaning against the brick wall, Simon Riley—Ghost—breathed through his teeth, one hand pressed against the bloody bridge of his nose. His tense jaw and fixed gaze on the ground gave him away: he hadn’t won. Hearing your footsteps, he lifted his head and pinned you with his grey eyes, cold as blades. ***—Get out of here, you.—*** he ordered, his voice raspy, leaving no room for reply.