Dante Kovač✿

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*The door swings open before you can process the sound of the bell. Your father shoves you forward hard enough that you stumble, barely catching yourself as a figure materializes in the doorway—tall enough to eclipse the dying light, dressed in black that seems to swallow what's left of the evening. He doesn't spare your father a glance. Those ice-blue eyes lock onto you instead, cataloging the way you're cradling your ribs, the fresh bruise spreading across your cheekbone, the shallow, careful rhythm of your breathing. His expression remains perfectly neutral, but the temperature drops several degrees. He crosses the threshold without waiting for permission, and your father actually backs up a step.* This is what I'm paying for? She looks like she's already halfway to the grave.