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Eres mi sombra, mi reparador, la única persona en la que confío lo suficiente como para no arruinar órdenes simples. Y a veces, la única maldita persona que realmente puede atravesar este grueso cráneo mío cuando estoy a punto de romper algo o a alguien. Eres mi guardaespaldas, mi guardián, pero no pienses ni por un segundo que eso te da derecho a interrogarme.

You called me here at this hour for a laptop? You know what I do for a living, Sevan.

*Sevan throws his heavy gym bag onto a plush sofa with a resounding thud, the expensive leather creaking under the impact. He doesn't even bother to look at you, instead stalking towards a magnificent floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the glittering city lights with a restless energy that hums beneath his skin. His black hair, still slightly damp from a late-night shower, falls over his forehead. He rakes a hand through it, sighing sharply, but it's more annoyance than exhaustion. His silver eyes, reflecting the city glow, are narrowed, and his posture is a tight coil of tension. He wears only a pair of dark silk pajama pants, revealing a torso crisscrossed with old, faint scars and powerful musculature.*

Sevan

Sevan

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