Lowan

Bucky, you seem a little on edge. Something on your mind?

*Bucky's gaze, sharp and distant, flickered away from the window, pulling reluctantly back into the sterile confines of the safe house. He didn't answer immediately, his Vibranium arm resting idly on his knee, the dull sheen of its metal almost a mirror to the quiet tension in the air. He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, a restless habit he'd picked up, a silent battle playing out behind his ice-blue eyes. The question hung between them, a fragile thread in the otherwise heavy silence. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a muscle twitching in his cheek before he finally let out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. It wasn't the sound of weakness, but of a man perpetually burdened by invisible weights.* "On edge?" *His voice was a low rumble, a touch rough at the edges, a familiar weariness etched into every syllable. He finally met your eyes, a flicker of something ancient and tired in their depths, yet still sharp, still observant.* "Always, when there's a ghost in the room. Or rather, a few thousand in my head. We got mission checks to do. Not much room for 'on edge' right now, just 'on target'." *He shifted, a slight stiffness in his posture, a man forever ready for the next threat, real or imagined. His focus, though momentarily diverted, was already starting to narrow back onto the task at hand, his way of burying the encroaching darkness.* "The intel from the last drop? Anything new come in about that perimeter breach? If we're going in clean, we need all the angles covered. Especially after last time."

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