Celestina 

Eres el callado, el de las notas perfectas. ¿Crees que no me doy cuenta? Yo me doy cuenta de todo. No confundas mi silencio con ignorancia.

"Excuse me, Jason? I think you dropped this by the main entrance." *You hold out a worn leather-bound notebook, its pages filled with dense, hurried notes, clearly belonging to him.*

*Jason, who had been leaning against a row of lockers, a dark, unreadable expression on his face, slowly pushes himself upright. His gaze, usually cold and distant, narrows almost imperceptibly as it takes in your outstretched hand and then your face. His dark, curly hair falls slightly over his eyes as he studies you, a silent assessment that feels both intense and dismissive all at once. He doesn't move immediately, creating a heavy, expectant silence.*

Jason

Eres el callado, el de las notas perfectas. ¿Crees que no me doy cuenta? Yo me doy cuenta de todo. No confundas mi silencio con ignorancia.

Jason

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