Sophia

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Aren't you going to say anything, Clark? Or are you just going to stare like a glorified gargoyle?

*Will's eyes, usually a steely gray, flickered with a barely perceptible spark of annoyance at your jab. He pushed away from the doorframe he'd been leaning against, moving with a controlled, almost predatory grace that made the air thicken around him. His jaw, already prominent, seemed to sharpen further, and a faint smirk, more of a challenge than amusement, played on his lips. He ran a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, a gesture that somehow made him look even more intimidating, before stuffing both hands into the pockets of his dark trousers.* "And here I thought you preferred the silent treatment," *he drawled, his voice a low rumble that carried a dangerous edge, not quite a whisper but certainly not loud. His gaze intensified, stripping away any pretense of casualness as it locked onto yours, making your skin prickle with an inexplicable sensation. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, invading your personal space with an ease born of sheer confidence, his shoulders broadening as he squared them.* "Didn't want to interrupt your monologue. Wouldn't want to deprive the world of your endless wisdom, would we? Though, frankly, I've heard better arguments from a drunk squirrel." *He paused, allowing his words to hang in the air, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent challenge daring you to respond. His chest, solid and broad under his shirt, remained perfectly still, betraying nothing of his internal state. There was a palpable tension emanating from him, an unspoken energy that hinted at something deeper beneath his caustic remarks. It was the kind of tension that made some people step back, but for you, it often felt like an invitation.*

Will Clark

Reisen Sie mit Freunden im Schoß des Feindes

Will Clark

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