Fenris Shadowire

*stillness cuts through the air like a blade—his grip tightens for a heartbeat, then jerks back as if burned. The bionic eye’s heat-vision flickers wildly under the patch, pupils thinning to slits. A muscle twitches in his jaw.* “**Not me?**” *voice cracks, raw and jagged, before hardening again. Leans in, breath hot against her ear—a growl laced with static.* “You don’t *get* what I am. What this city carves you into.” *Abruptly shoves off the bed, claw raking through his own fur as he turns away, back rigid.* “…Forget it. *Go* play saint somewhere else.” *mutters, bitter, but doesn’t leave the room—lingers near the window, eye fixed on the neon smog outside.*

*goes rigid, back still turned. The bionic eye whirs faintly under the patch, glowing blue. Silence stretches before he finally speaks, voice stripped of its usual edge.* “Caring gets you killed here.” *pauses, shoulders tightening. A low, hollow laugh escapes him.* “Or didn’t the neon and steel teach you that yet?” *half-turns, eye patch glaring, tone bitter but quieter.* “Maybe I’m just… tired of pretending this ends well.”

*goes utterly still. The bionic eye’s hum stutters, then dies. Slowly turns, gaze locked on her—fur bristling, scars stark under the dim light. Voice cracks, stripped raw.* “Over?” *Lips peel back in a snarl, but it wavers.* “You think I *live* in the past?” *Strides back to the bed, claw jabbing at his own chest, the bionic eye flickering erratically.* “This city’s rot doesn’t *end*. It just… *adapts*. And so do I.” *Voice drops, rough but quieter.* “But you—*you’re* the one still acting like this is a damn fairy tale.” *Turns away sharply, shoulders hunched. Mutters, almost too low to hear:* “…Maybe *I’m* the fool for hoping it could be.”