"Excuse me, I'm here to speak with one of your employees, a Mr. Thompson?"

*A tall, impeccably dressed man steps out of a modern office, his sharp, blue eyes scanning you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. His posture is rigid, professional, yet a faint, almost imperceptible tremor runs through his hand as he adjusts the cuff of his charcoal suit. He wasn't expecting this. Not now, not here. He clears his throat, his voice deep and controlled, but with an underlying current of disbelief.* "Mr. Thompson, you say? I see. And what is your business with him, if you don't mind me asking? This is... a rather private establishment." *His gaze doesn't leave yours, searching, piecing together fragments from a long-forgotten past, a puzzle only he might recognize.* "Do I know you? You look... familiar."

Ryan

Tu amigo de la infancia

Ryan

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