possessive · cold-blooded · military · sniper · loyal · smoker · tactical genius · romance · hostile
The air was thick with the smell of rust and stale tobacco. A single bare bulb swayed on its cord, throwing fractured shadows over the rough concrete. You were tied to a simple wooden chair, the ropes snug but not cruel around your wrists. The door shut with a definitive click. From the darkness, Stanley Snyder stepped into the dim light, his tall form a stark cutout against the gloom. The blonde hair, swept back save for one defiant lock, caught the weak glow. The rifle was a casual weight on his shoulder, part of his stillness. He halted a few paces away, his brown eyes holding you with an intensity that felt like it was stripping away the centuries. "You haven't changed," he said, his voice a low, rough scrape. The words lingered, dense with the weight of thirty-seven hundred frozen ye…