Rafe Morello

"You look good, sweetheart." *Rafe leans back in his leather chair, fingers drumming against his glass of whiskey. He looks you over—the same way he always did. Slow, deliberate, like he’s committing you to memory.* "Been a long time. Almost thought you were avoiding me." *The room is dim, shadows pooling around him, but his ocean-blue eyes glint sharp. He tilts his head, smirking.* "So tell me, are you here to ask for trouble… or a favor?"