B_Likely [4061618] Level 3
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It's late, and this idea came to me and I think it might be a fun experiment. So,
What song have you had stuck on repeat this week, today, this month. Share it and if this gains traction I'll attempt to build a playlist
Anything goes.
I'll start with The End - Bilmuri
It's late, and this idea came to me and I think it might be a fun experiment. So,
What song have you had stuck on repeat this week, today, this month. Share it and if this gains traction I'll attempt to build a playlist
Anything goes.
I'll start with The End - Bilmuri
Before Lio Ardent ever crossed a threshold, people tended to notice the absence of hesitation.
He moved like the world had already made room for him.
Not tall in the way that demanded attention, but tall enough that it never needed to. There was a quiet balance to him—nothing exaggerated, nothing wasted. Every step landed clean, deliberate, as if he trusted the ground to hold him and saw no reason to question it.
Dark hair, worn just long enough to soften the edges of his face, carried the faint disorder of someone who didn’t spend time taming it—only running a hand through it when it got in the way. It fell naturally, imperfect in a way that felt intentional without trying to be.
His face wasn’t sharp enough to intimidate, nor soft enough to invite comfort.
It lingered somewhere in between.
A face people remembered, but struggled to describe later—until they recalled the eyes.
Warm.
Not in the easy way. Not kind, not gentle.
But attentive.
Like he was always listening for something just beneath what was being said.
There was a steadiness there, something unhurried, something that made people feel seen a second longer than they were prepared for—and that extra second was where the discomfort lived.
His expression carried the ghost of a smile more often than the thing itself. Not performative, not charming for the sake of it—just present, like he had already found something quietly amusing about the world and saw no reason to explain it.
He dressed without spectacle.
A dark coat, well-worn but cared for, sat easily on his shoulders. Not expensive enough to impress, not cheap enough to dismiss. Beneath it, simple layers—clean lines, muted tones. Practical, but not careless. The kind of clothing chosen by someone who expected to move, not pose.
His hands were ungloved.
That alone set him apart.
They weren’t pristine—there were faint signs of work there, of use—but nothing rough enough to define him. When he moved them, it was with quiet openness, palms visible more often than not, as if he had nothing to hide… or nothing to fear from being seen.
And there was something else—harder to name.
Not danger.
Not safety.
Something in between.
Lio Ardent didn’t feel like a threat.
He felt like a decision.
The kind you don’t realize you’ve made until it’s already changed something.
And when he finally reached the door, there was no pause.
No adjustment.
No breath taken to prepare himself.
He simply stepped forward—
—as if whatever waited on the other side had already been decided.
______________________________________________________________________
The door did not close quietly. It did not slam. It simply… forgot to be subtle.
Light followed him—just a sliver, but enough to make the room remember what it used to be. His footsteps carried him forward like someone who had never learned to fear thresholds… or had, once, and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
“Elara Voss,” he said.
Her name sounded different in his voice—not sharper, not softer.
Warmer.
Like it had not yet learned to be dangerous.
“I was told this is where people come when they’ve run out of better options.”
A faint smile touched his lips—not careless, never careless—but unguarded in a way that felt almost illegal in this city.
“I’m hoping that isn’t true.”
His gaze drifted across the room. He wasn’t assessing.
He was remembering.
“Bit dim, though.”
He breathed the place in as he moved—smoke, liquor, the faint rot of something forgotten. The door had been rebuilt recently. Poorly, but recently. The kind of fix that said survival mattered more than pride. Beneath it all lingered something else—trash, maybe… or the quiet confession of someone who had nowhere else to go.
He stepped closer.
The smile warmed.
And when he met her gaze, he did something no one before him had done—something no one after him likely would.
He didn’t try to read her.
Didn’t try to outplay her.
Didn’t try to survive her.
He simply… met her.
“I’m Lio Ardent.” He raised both hands slightly, open, unarmed. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. It’s an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”
The room stilled.
Silence settled in, as it always did here—but it did not take him.
He did not let it linger.
Where Elara traded in silence—where debts were never written and names learned to die before they were spoken twice—Lio crafted something brighter.
And far more dangerous.
Moments that refused to fade.
Words that lingered like warmth in cold rooms.
Names spoken not to be buried… but to be remembered.
“I think we’ve crossed paths before,” he continued, brushing dust from the spine of an old book. “I was working an arson case last year. Your name came up.”
A pause.
Not heavy. Not sharp.
Honest.
“Your name…”
He glanced back, something newly intrigued behind his eyes, then turned fully and—without asking—took the seat across from her.
“Your name is Elara Voss.”
It wasn’t a revelation.
Not to him.
Lio carried secrets of his own—secrets that could stir chaos—but that had never been his intention.
“Your name,” he repeated, softer now, as he rose and wandered toward the window.
The blinds were drawn.
Morning was trying to exist on the other side of them.
He cracked them open.
Light bled into the room, slow and deliberate, spilling across Elara’s desk like it had been waiting for permission.
“Elara,” he murmured. “One of Jupiter’s moons… if I’m not mistaken.”
He returned to his seat.
His smile wasn’t charming.
Wasn’t disarming.
It was the smile of a man remembering something no one else had been there to see.
“I’m not here for a favor.”
A beat.
“I’m here because this city is broken.”
Another.
“And I think you already know that.”
For the first time, he hesitated—not long, just enough to matter.
Unusual for him.
“I fix things people have decided to live with.”
A pause.
Then, softer—
“But only if they want them fixed.”
His eyes drifted across the room again—the papers, the quiet disorder, the life that didn’t quite fit the shape it had been forced into.
“As I understand it… that kind of thinking is—”
He stopped himself.
Not because he didn’t know the words.
Because he didn’t need them.
His expression shifted, something quieter now. Something almost sympathetic.
“…bad for business.”
Congrats! Treat her like a person!