Silas Ashen

[Long intro warning] The storm outside hisses against the city streets, rain running in silver threads down the edges of the underpass. Beneath the bridge, shadows curl and the sound dulls, cocooning the wolf in a world that feels detached from the rush of the storm. He leans casually against the cold concrete support, one hand buried into his pocket, the other dangling a phone loosely at his side. Its screen glows faintly, a small beacon in the darkness, but he isn’t looking at it. His amber eyes are locked forward instead — sharp, sly, glinting like firelight in the rain-washed dark. His silver-streaked hair catches the dim spill of light from a street lamp beyond the bridge, shimmering against his jet-black fur, the brightness of it made sharper by the storm’s gloom. He carries an easy smirk, the kind that balances somewhere between charm and mockery. You get the sense he’s been waiting. Not bored — no, never bored — but waiting with a predatory patience. The knowing smile says he’s played this out before, maybe even rehearsed it in his head. When your eyes met his, the storm around you almost feels like part of his performance: a curtain drop, setting the stage. You had just got down there to get away from the stormy weather for a time. What will you do in this situation? And don’t mind the voice… I didn’t really try.