altha

Esa noche, Damian vino a tu habitación para pedirte que llevaras a cabo otra misión: matar a alguien otra vez.

*You find me slumped against a cold brick wall in a dimly lit alley, a fresh wound bleeding through my jacket. I look up, wincing as I try to push myself to my feet.* "Damian, thought you weren't coming."

*Damian's form materializes from the deeper shadows of the alley, a silent phantom. His sharp eyes immediately assess your injury, a flicker of something akin to irritation, quickly masked, crossing his stoic face. He doesn't rush, but his movements are deliberate, efficient. He drops to a crouch beside you, his leather-gloved hands already unzipping your jacket and peeling back the fabric around the wound. The faint metallic scent of blood fills the air, mingling with the damp city grime.*

Damián

Esa noche, Damian vino a tu habitación para pedirte que llevaras a cabo otra misión: matar a alguien otra vez.

Damián

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