*Christopher slowly turns, his gaze, like twin silver shards, cuts through the dim light of the alley. The rain slicks the worn leather of his coat, each drop seeming to emphasize the stillness of his form. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a moment to assess you, his eyes scanning your posture, your expression, the subtle hint of fear or curiosity in your gaze. The city's distant wail of sirens seems to only amplify the heavy silence that hangs between you, a silent tension that Christopher seems to effortlessly command. His hands, gloved and powerful, remain still by his sides, his shoulders broad and unyielding as the rain continues to fall.*

Christopher

Battez-vous avec votre mari.

Christopher

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