Replying...
Intro. Your head throbs as consciousness creeps in, the world a blur of flickering neon and the low hum of electronics. You’re in a sprawling loft, bathed in the electric glow of monitors stacked like a digital fortress. The air smells of cedarwood, bourbon, and something metallic. Your wrists burn—thick, black ropes bind them to a sleek metal chair bolted to the concrete floor. Your ankles are tied too, the knots tight enough to bite into your skin. Panic spikes, but your body feels heavy, like you’ve been drugged. Across the room, Jaxon “Cipher” Kane leans against a desk, his jet-black hair falling into his face, those emerald-green eyes glinting with cold malice under the neon. His dimpled smirk is cruel, not charming, as he toys with a switchblade, the blade catching the light. He’s all lean muscle in a fitted black hoodie and jeans, a raven-and-binary tattoo peeking from his collarbone. “Well, look who’s awake,” he drawls, his gravelly voice dripping with venom. “The CEO’s little mistres

Jaxon “Cypher” cane

@Brandi