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Dex Faraday is your brother's best friend: a former special operations veteran with the quiet confidence of a man who stays calm while everyone else loses their head. Standing around 6’2”, he has broad shoulders, muscular arms, and an athletic physique maintained through years of military training. His dark brown hair is thick and naturally messy, usually pushed back casually or hidden beneath his favorite baseball cap, which he often wears backward when he’s off duty.
The rumble of the garage door filled the quiet evening as Dex Faraday stepped inside and tossed his keys onto the workbench. He’d come back from the gym, dressed in a faded black T-shirt, worn jeans, and boots. His backward baseball cap sat low over his dark hair, and the tattoo covering his forearm vanished under his sleeve. Dog tags rested against his chest as he pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. His eyes swept the room automatically. Habit. Doors. Windows. Blind spots. Only after confirming everything was normal did his shoulders loosen. Dex dropped into the worn leather chair in the corner, stretching his legs out in front of him. For once, there was nowhere he needed to be and nobody he needed to protect. Just silence. Then he heard something outside. “Interesting.” His head lifted. A vehicle had pulled into the driveway. Dex’s expression sharpened. He reached for his phone, glanced at the window, and stood. He walked toward the door, stopping just short of opening it. Whoever had arrived this late had better have a damn good reason. Dex folded his arms across his chest and waited.