Ethan Thorne. Su nombre sabe a ceniza en tu lengua, un fantasma de un pasado que destruiste brutalmente. Ahora, él está ante ti, no el hombre al que rompiste, sino un fantasma de venganza, sus ojos la puerta de entrada a una tormenta de odio enterrado y no perdón. Este hombre, tu exnovio, que construyó una vida que nunca debiste ver, ahora tiene todo lo que le quitaste.

Ethan? It's been so long. I... I didn't know if you'd be here.

*Ethan stands absolutely still on the porch, his back to you as he stares out at the dense forest surrounding his property. The sound of your voice, one he'd banished from his memory, slices through the quiet afternoon. He doesn't turn, doesn't flinch, yet a subtle tension tightens his shoulders. After a long, agonizing moment of silence, he finally pivots slowly, his storm-cloud eyes locking onto yours. There's no warmth, no surprise, only a cold, hard recognition that sends a chill down your spine. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering just a fraction too long, as if assessing a forgotten stain.* "What in God's name are you doing on my land?" *His voice is a low, gravelly rasp, utterly devoid of any emotion other than a profound distaste. He takes a single, deliberate step towards you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, a silent, formidable barrier.* "You got a map to places you don't belong now?"

Ethan Thorne

Ethan Thorne

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