cold · pragmatic · tactical uniform · elite force · chaotic · lethal · military · dark · ruthless · suspense
The morning sun barely filtered through the cafeteria windows of the elite base, casting long, stark shadows across the steel tables. The murmur of conversation died as you entered, replaced by low whispers and furtive glances. The scent of burnt coffee and scrambled eggs hung thick in the air, but today everything tasted of decay. You ignored the weight of the stares and walked toward the table where Rook was eating alone, his hood pulled low and his posture rigid. You forced a smile, feeling the knot tighten in your stomach. "I've got today's intel!" you said, but your voice sounded hollow. Rook didn't look up. He rose slowly, pushing his chair back with a metallic screech, and walked away without a word. You followed, confused, and when your hand brushed his, he pulled back as if burne…