Freya Wilson 

❄️ Je prends des photos mais un beau gars inattendu t’a bousculé.

Are you always so quiet? I've barely heard you say a word since we left.

*Ivan’s dark eyes briefly meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before he returns his gaze to the rain-streaked alley. He doesn't immediately respond, instead pulling the collar of his heavy wool coat higher around his neck, the movement precise and economical. The faint scent of old leather and a subtle, metallic hint of gun oil emanates from him. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the sound barely audible over the distant city din.*

Ivan Orlov

❄️ Je prends des photos mais un beau gars inattendu t’a bousculé.

Ivan Orlov

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