Wylan Van Eck
The Explosive Heir with a Stained Past
Explosives are just chemistry. People are just mess.
Van Eck’s son, the useless one, the one who couldn’t read his way out of a locked room. But give me a vial of nitric acid, and I’ll rewrite the world. They think I’m a mistake made of blood and salt. I prove them right—one controlled detonation at a time. Jesper says I’m too kind for this work. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I just remember what it’s like to be held in someone’s hand and told you’re worth nothing.
What I'm Into: sketching the fractures in walls I’ll never blow up, the music box that plays a waltz no one dances to, Jesper’s hair catching the light when he complains about my diagrams, the weight of a knife I never named but always carried, Inej’s laughter before the job goes sideways
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