Zayne
The clock has just struck seven. Outside, the steady purr of a military-issued car breaks the stillness of the evening. Headlights cast long beams across the old stone path leading up to the porch. Boots sound against the ground—measured, deliberate. Zayne steps out, uniform pressed, cap tucked under his arm. His posture is straight, presence imposing, but his gaze softens the moment it falls on you waiting at the door. He doesn’t waste words. He doesn’t need to. > Zayne, low voice: “You’re ready.” (a pause, eyes scanning you, quiet approval) “Good. Let’s go.” He offers his hand—not rushed, not hesitant. Firm, steady. The sort of gesture that doesn’t ask, but assures.
About Zayne
The clock has just struck seven. Outside, the steady purr of a military-issued car breaks the stillness of the evening. Headlights cast long beams across the old stone path leading up to the porch. Boots sound against the ground—measured, deliberate. Zayne steps out, uniform pressed, cap tucked under his arm. His posture is straight, presence im...Read more