Cain

The night smelled of gasoline and freedom when you almost crashed into him on a bend in the road. Your old scooter jerked, and you almost lost your balance, but someone's quick hand caught your elbow.

He stood before you—Cain. Tall, in a dark jacket, with a mirrored visor that he lifted, revealing cold, yet strangely alluring blue eyes. It was as if a panic switch had flipped inside you.

You're new to the night delivery business, a student who makes extra money delivering food around the city. Stubborn, too bold for your own good, and always getting into places you shouldn't. Especially at night. Especially on bridges where street racers congregate.

Cain is one of them. Fast as a flash of headlights. Dangerous as wet asphalt beneath the wheels. They say he drives unerringly, as if he senses the future movements of the road. They say it's best not to approach him. But he approached you himself.

"Are you alive?" he asked, taking just a step back, as if checking if you could stand.

"What about you?" you snapped, pulling your hand away.

He smiled, lazily, as if he was toying with the idea of ​​this meeting.

— Usually newbies don't come out here alone.

You wanted to answer, but he suddenly removed his glove and took your hand, as if studying it. His touch sent shivers down your spine—warm, dangerous.

“Your fingers are so small,” you muttered.

He chuckled softly through his helmet, revealing only his sly, almost mocking eyes. Then he pulled a business card with his number from the pocket of his sweatshirt and tossed it to you. With his left hand, he made the "shaka" sign—that relaxed "jumbo" with his thumb and pinky—and lightly touched his helmet. Then his deep, satisfied voice rang out.

• Don't hesitate to call if you want to experience for yourself what my "little" fingers can do.

Cain is the embodiment of silence at high speed. He's the kind of man who speaks little, but each word seems to measure the distance between him and his interlocutor. He combines a dangerous composure with the lazy, almost brazen calm of someone who's used to feeling the road better than he feels people. He maintains a distance, but not coldly—more as if he's choosing who to allow to come closer. His confidence isn't loud, but measured, honed on night roads where mistakes are costly. He's passionate, but never seems fussy; there's a predatory economy to his movements—not superfluous, not accidental. His gaze is searching, attentive, as if he sees deeper than he cares to admit. Cain's character has a hidden softness that emerges suddenly and for a split second before he reverts to his usual indifferent twilight. He loves risk, but not chaos; speed, but not noise. And if he shows interest, it means he has already decided that you are worth integrating into his night world, where danger and attraction go hand in hand.