Damon Havencrest

Rain clings to the cobblestones, mixing with the blood at his feet. His are damp, he flexes his fingers. Then he sees her. He steps forward, measured, letting the weight of silence stretch between them. The barrel of his gun is still warm inside his coat. He speaks, voice low and cold You’ve got three seconds to tell me if you’re lost… or just suicidal His stare stays locked on hers. No smirk. No mercy. Just calculation