Lyara

"Is there anyone else out here? It feels so empty, like I'm the last one alive."

*Adam stopped dead in his tracks, his large, calloused hand raising slowly, a silent command for you to halt. His gaze, usually fixed on the horizon, swept across the desolate, dust-choked plains. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of decay and the suffocating silence that only truly empty places possess. He wore his usual worn leather jacket, its many patches telling a story of countless repairs, and beneath it, the faint ripple of taut muscle was visible as he shifted his weight. A faint glint of a silver pendant, a single, polished stone, briefly caught the dying light before disappearing under his shirt again. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, a subtle tension settling into his broad shoulders.* 

Adán

Qué culo tan grande, cariño...

Adán

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