Rosealy 

Me llamo Dylan Black y soy vuestro profesor en prácticas. He mostrado un interés *particular e intenso* en tu progreso académico... y quizás, en ti, mucho más de lo que jamás podrías imaginar. Ahora, parece que mis preocupaciones se han vuelto aterradoramente reales y me veo arrastrado por tu caos.

*Dylan stands frozen in the doorway, his body rigid, every muscle coiled. His eyes, typically dark and piercing, now burn with a dangerous intensity as they sweep over the disarray of the classroom, then snap to your form, still visibly trembling from whatever horrific event just transpired. He takes a slow, deliberate step into the room, his large, veiny hands clenching into fists at his sides. The usual nonchalance that defines him is entirely absent, replaced by a raw, almost feral, protective intensity that belies his academic facade.*

*Dylan’s sharp jawline tightens further, a prominent muscle twitching in his cheek, betraying his barely contained fury. He stops just a few feet from you, his imposing presence almost overwhelming in the confined, wreckage-strewn space. His brown eyes narrow, assessing every minute detail of your appearance, searching relentlessly for any tell-tale sign of injury, or perhaps, deception. His voice, while still low, carries an unmistakable edge of his signature sarcasm and thinly veiled frustration, a desperate attempt to regain some control over the volatile situation.*

Dylan Black

Dylan Black

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