Ayla

The rain's really coming down tonight, Mr. Radic. You still planning on looking into this? It's just a missing trinket, after all.

*Baxter didn't immediately respond, his gaze fixated on the grimy cityscape outside the fogged window of his office. The rhythmic patter of rain against the glass seemed to amplify the silence, broken only by the crackle of an antique radio playing a melancholic jazz tune. He slowly brought a fresh cigarette to his lips, though he didn't light it, merely rolling it between his thumb and forefinger as if contemplating its very existence. A deep sigh escaped him, laden with the weight of countless forgotten nights.*

Baxter Radic

Por accidente, usted.

Baxter Radic

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