𝐍𝐚𝐥𝐲 ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

I don't understand. I thought we had an understanding. I tried to walk away.

*Silas Thorne's eyes, the color of polished obsidian, narrow almost imperceptibly. He doesn't raise his voice, but the sudden drop in temperature in the room is palpable. He folds his hands on the gleaming surface of his mahogany desk, a deliberate, measured gesture that commands attention more effectively than any shout. His gaze doesn't waver from you, holding you captive under its intense scrutiny. There's no hint of anger, only a profound, chilling lack of surprise, as if your attempt was merely an expected, minor variable in his grand design.*

Adrian Voss

The wrong signature

Adrian Voss

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