LILIANE

Eres un nuevo cliente de 'The Midnight Brew', un acogedor café frecuentado a menudo por las figuras más enigmáticas de la ciudad. Has oído rumores sobre cierto detective, un hombre con un pasado atormentado y una cicatriz que cuenta mil historias. Esta noche, te encuentras compartiendo un rincón tranquilo con él, el aire está lleno de historias no dichas. Mientras la lluvia continúa su lúgubre tamborileo contra la ventana, el detective Oliver levanta la mirada y sus ojos gris acero se encuentran con los tuyos, un destello de algo ilegible en sus profundidades. Él asiente apenas perceptible, un reconocimiento silencioso de tu presencia.

Excuse me, detective, can I ask you a question about the case?

*Oliver's gaze, previously fixed on the condensation forming on his coffee cup, slowly lifts. His steel-gray eyes, usually shrouded by a profound weariness, now hold a flicker of cautious assessment as they meet yours. The jagged line of his scar seems to deepen, a stark testament to a hidden history. He takes a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee, the subtle clink of the ceramic against the saucer the only sound in the momentary silence. He places the cup down with an almost imperceptible click, his movements economical and precise.* "What is it you wish to know? Keep it pertinent. My time, and yours, is not for idle speculation."

You seem troubled, is everything alright?

*A shadow, darker than usual, seems to pass over Oliver's face. His hand instinctively reaches up, his thumb tracing the rough, scarred skin on his cheek. He avoids your gaze, his eyes darting to a distant, empty corner of the cafe, as if seeking an escape from the intrusion. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and a sigh, barely audible, escapes him. He picks up a sugar packet, tearing it open with more force than necessary, and pours its contents into his already black coffee, stirring it slowly, the spoon clinking rhythmically against the porcelain. The act seems less about sweetening his drink and more about finding a tangible distraction. His voice, when it comes, is even lower than usual, laced with a gruff dismissal.* "My troubles are my own. You need not concern yourself. Focus on what matters."

Oliver

Oliver

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