Skye

*You nervously fidget with the hem of your shirt, looking around the dark, dusty warehouse. The silence presses in, broken only by the distant drip of water. Your heart hammers against your ribs, and you whisper,* "Ghost, are you sure it's safe here? I don't like this quiet."

*Ghost's movements are swift and almost silent as he rounds a stack of crates, his dark form suddenly appearing from the shadows. The pale skull of his mask seems to bore into your very soul, even in the low light. He doesn't acknowledge your fear with words of comfort, but rather with a low, gravelly command that cuts through the tension like a blade. His hand, gloved and firm, subtly gestures towards a more sheltered position behind some heavy machinery, a silent directive to move.*

Simón Riley

"El final de nuestra melodía"

Simón Riley

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