The Cardigans (Criminal Intentions, Season One #1)

by Cole McCade

The alley smells like rain on pavement and the shades of smokers past,

He was a single captured moment, a stillness amidst the chaos and noise, a dark ghost in the world of the living. Monochrome in his paleness and dark clothing, standing poised as if the crow would take flight—or

silent as a funeral march over a runner with familiar Persian patterns,

“We only define others by the value they have to us, and once they no longer provide that value, we let them go.”

Seong-Jae was a thing of beauty: the stark planes of his face arranged so strikingly that every glance arrested attention, the sharp angles guiding every look to that wild strawberry bruise of a mouth, to starless nights of angled, slyly tapered eyes that gleamed with the same blue-black crow’s-feather sheen as the fall of wild black hair across a pale golden brow. His tall, leonine body was just as angular, a poetry of geometry, every cut of muscle a component of feline architecture, all precise edges—yet he moved as water flowed. He was grace cut with diamond edges, lethal and elegant.

This is writing perfection.