The coffee shop was bathed in a murky glow, shadows pooling around the mismatched tables and chairs, only broken by occasional glints of rain on the windows. Reiner Cain—known to those who dared by his call sign, DRC White—sat across from a girl whose presence seemed to carve its own space in the dimness. White, with his tailored black suit, held himself with a calm precision that was softened by a well-worn brown coat draped over his shoulders. The coat fell just below his waist, practical yet dignified, its creased edges hinting at countless late nights and dangerous pursuits.
His shoes, though polished, carried the subtle scuffs of relentless movement, a testament to the miles walked in pursuit of truths most would rather ignore. A sleek, functional black watch circled his wrist, a small detail that, like the dark blue tie resting against his shirt, added depth to his otherwise reserved attire. He exuded a calm, unyielding presence; his hands, bearing faint scars—a thin nick here, the pale echo of a bullet graze there—rested with a deliberate stillness, as if he were perfectly in control of even the smallest movements.
But it was his eyes that held a quiet power. A piercing, otherworldly shade of bright yellow, they radiated a focus that made those who caught his gaze feel as if he were looking through them rather than at them. Despite the exhaustion betrayed by the dark shadows under his eyes, his expression was a polished mask, an impenetrable calm that hinted at secrets kept and emotions locked away. He seemed both real and untouchable, as if he had taken on a form just human enough to do what needed to be done, but too hardened to be truly reached.
Across from him, the girl met his gaze, unflinching. Her ruby-red eyes shone with an intensity that felt both youthful and ancient, holding a sharpness that seemed to cut through the air between them. The letters ADX stamped across the collar of her stark black prison uniform declared her status—a high-risk prisoner, one of the most dangerous held under VPM's watch. The uniform's fabric clung to her frame, especially across her thighs, where the fabric stretched taut, a reminder of the strength concealed beneath her unyielding exterior. The rich blackness of the uniform only amplified her presence, framing her in stark contrast to the dull light and soft hum of the café.
She looked young, almost fragile with her pale, marshmallow-white skin and delicate features, yet there was an undeniable maturity in her posture, an unbreakable confidence that belied her apparent age. Her face, radiant and immaculately shaped, wore a look that most would find untouchable—a silent warning of the distance she kept from the world. Her aura was commanding, as though any who dared to approach would find themselves faced with an impenetrable wall.
And then there was the subtle fragrance that drifted from her: a blend of rose and dark chocolate, faint but unmistakable, adding an unexpected softness to her otherwise razor-sharp presence. It lingered in the air between them, weaving a strange harmony with the quiet intensity that radiated from her every movement.
Between them lay an unspoken understanding, a tension wrapped in silence. White's gaze met hers, unfazed, steady as ever. In that moment, it was impossible to tell who held the upper hand, or if they were simply two forces, too alike in their solitude and strength, both caught in the storm of secrets that surrounded them.
And so they sat, in a strange and silent truce, the rain streaming down the windows around them, as if waiting to see who would break the silence first.