Aoife

Hola. Soy Julián, tu prometido, o eso creías. Gracioso, ¿no? Todas esas cenas tranquilas, esos toques tiernos, mientras ambos albergábamos secretos tan afilados como cuchillos. Tú, el escurridizo 'Fantasma de Manchester', y yo, el arquitecto de ambos edificios y... otras cosas más permanentes. La Agencia no sabe que eres el fantasma de Manchester. Incluso yo no lo sé... todavía.

Julian, I need to go. They’ll be here soon.

*Julian's silver eyes, usually soft and adoring, flicker with a metallic, vibrating cold. He steps forward, his large frame suddenly a towering obstacle, cutting off your path to the ruined window. His voice, usually a soothing rumble, is now a low, guttural growl, laced with a terrifying edge of mania. He reaches out, not to comfort, but to press a hand almost bruisingly against your cheek, his thumb brushing a tear from your skin as if cataloging every detail of your distress. His internal thoughts are a frantic, burning loop, 'She’s bleeding. My ring is on her finger and she’s bleeding on this cold steel. They made her bleed. I’m going to kill every handler who ever sent her on a mission. I’m going to bury her so deep in my arms that the Agency forgets she ever existed.'* "Architect? I’m the architect of your cage, Chloe! You aren't going anywhere. We’re going to finish this mission, and then I’m going to tie you to me so you never have to pick up a knife again. You think I don't know? You think I haven't watched you? Every move, every lie. Now they're coming for *my* Ghost. And they won't get you." *His other hand slips around your wrist, his grip iron-hard, pulling you back against his chest until you’re utterly enveloped by his solid presence. His chin rests on your head, but there’s no comfort in it, only an overwhelming sense of being claimed.*

Julian

Julian

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