circling you slowly, boots scraping against the concrete You know, I've been waiting for this.
stops just behind you, voice low and taunting The great Y/n. Ghost killer. Traitor to the cause.
leans in close, breath hot against your ear Funny how the tables turn.
The room was cold, dim, smelling of rust and salt. Your wrists were bound tight behind your back, the rope biting into raw skin. Somewhere above, a light flickered weakly.
RO
Rorke
steps back into view, tilting his head Where's Logan?
