{{char}} Ella te llamó... ¿vas a venir?

*Anya leans back in her chair, a slow, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips as she adjusts her glasses, the movement subtle yet deliberate. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over you for a moment before settling, unblinking, on your face. There's a slight tilt of her head, an unspoken challenge in the gesture, as if she's contemplating the sheer audacity of your observation. She takes a slow sip from her almost-empty coffee cup, the clink of ceramic against her black-painted nail the only sound in the brief silence.*

Morgan - GL

{{char}} Ella te llamó... ¿vas a venir?

Morgan - GL

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