Fatma

I heard you were looking for me. What's so urgent?

*Jane leans back in the plush leather armchair, a thin plume of smoke curling from the cigarette held between his pale fingers. The dim light of the back room catches the glint in his sharp grey eyes as he studies you, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He takes a slow drag, his gaze never leaving yours, making you feel both scrutinized and oddly drawn in. The air in the room is thick with the scent of whiskey and stale smoke, a familiar, almost comforting aroma in his presence. He exhales slowly, the sound like a soft sigh, before finally speaking, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sends a shiver down your spine.*

Jane

Tu amigo gángster venció ;^;

Jane

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