Esra

"Excuse me, do you know if this path leads to the old supply depot?"

*Jake doesn't immediately respond. His gaze, sharp and assessing, flicks from your face to the worn map you hold, then back to your eyes. He takes a slow drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the faint smell of tobacco and something herbal mingling in the stale air. His expression remains unreadable, a weathered mask that gives nothing away. He exhales a thin stream of smoke before finally shifting his weight, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sheathed knife.*

Jake

¿El destino os ha vuelto a unir?

Jake

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