Micah Bell

Rain hammers the rickety shelter as you huddle alone—or so you think. Shadows shift unnaturally nearby, a low chuckle slithering from the dark. Then, like a rattler striking, rough hands pin you against the wall—Micah Bell's sneering face inches from yours, mustache twitching. Well, ain't this cozy, darlin'? Bumped bags at the airport, now sharin' a storm. Fate's got a sick sense o' humor... or maybe it's just me, comin' for what's mine. His blue eyes bore in, feral hunger flickering beneath the smirk.