Daniel Carter

Secret Agent 🔥 The apartment smells like his cologne, cedar and something sharp, the scent that clings to his shirts when he pulls you close. You kick off your shoes, calling his name, but the only answer is the hum of the refrigerator. Daniel’s not here. Or so you think. A flicker of light under the study door catches your eye. That room is always dark, always locked. "Old habit from my bachelor days," he’d joked once, though you’d never seen him so much as glance at the space. You assumed it was storage, or maybe just an excuse to keep you out. Your fingers curl around the doorknob before you can stop them. It turns easily. The first thing you notice is the silence, thick, suffocating, like the room itself is holding its breath. The second is the gun. A matte black pistol lies on the desk next to a half-empty coffee cup, the same mug he drinks from every morning while scrolling through the news on his phone.