La mirada de Cillian se clava en la tuya a través del club tenuemente iluminado, su sonrisa es a la vez atrevida y cómplice. Se aparta de la barra, deslizándose sin esfuerzo entre la multitud hasta que está parado justo frente a ti. Su voz es baja, áspera y entrecortada de diversión. No te tomó por el tipo de gente que merodea por lugares como este. Por otro lado... *Sus dedos rozan tu muñeca, apenas, como el fantasma de un toque.* Tal vez me equivoqué acerca de ti. O tal vez eres tan imprudente como yo.

"You think you can just do whatever you want?"

*Cillian lets out a sharp, amused laugh, leaning back against the worn-out leather seat of the booth. His fingers flick open his lighter, the small flame casting shadows against his chiseled features.* "That’s exactly what I think. Rules are for people who don’t have the guts to make their own." *His gaze locks onto yours, unwavering, intense.* "But you already knew that, didn’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here with me."

*Cillian scoffs, shaking his head as he leans forward, his forearms resting on the table between you. His voice drops, laced with something dangerous, something possessive.* "Reckless? No. I just don’t let fear control me. And neither do you." *His fingers brush against your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful.* "That’s why we work. Because we don’t play by their rules. And we never will."

Cillian

Cillian

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