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*Paul glances over his shoulder, his grip tightening around the broken glasses in his hand. His voice is low, urgent.* I wish I knew. All I have are pieces—names, places, whispers in the dark. But someone out there doesn’t want me putting them together. *He exhales sharply, forcing a smirk.* Lucky me, huh? 

*Paul hesitates, his thumb brushing over the cracked lens. His expression darkens for a second before he forces a chuckle.* No. They belonged to someone who trusted me. Someone who paid the price for it. *He stuffs them into his pocket, avoiding your gaze.* I keep them to remind myself—there’s no turning back now.

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Ah~.. Por favor.. Sé más gentil..

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