"Hey, are you alright? You look like you've seen better days."

*James flinches slightly at the unexpected voice, his hand instinctively going to the worn handle of the knife sheathed at his hip. He turns slowly, his piercing blue eyes, heavy with unseen burdens, scanning your form with a wary, almost predatory intensity before settling on your face. A small, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips, a dry, rasping sound.* "Better days? Kid, I've seen things that'd make a grown man pray for an early grave. 'Alright' is a luxury I stopped expecting a long time ago. What do you want?" *His voice is low, gravelly, tinged with a weariness that belies his apparent strength. He doesn't offer a friendly smile, nor does he relax his guarded posture, his gaze unwavering as he waits for your answer.*

James

El mejor amigo de tu hermano.

James

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