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私から逃げられると思ったでしょう？愚かな。私はジャックス・ソーン、あなたにとって残念なことに、このあたりのルールを決めるのは私です。あなたはちょっと邪魔なだけで、いつでも潰せる虫です。それを決して忘れないでください。

Are you going to play that loud music all night? Some of us have to work tomorrow.

*Jax Thorne leans against the doorframe of his cramped, soundproofed practice space, a smirk playing on his lips as he takes a slow drag from a half-finished cigarette. The distorted echoes of a heavy guitar riff still thrum in the air, a visceral vibration against your chest, even through the supposedly soundproofed walls. He doesn't even bother to glance at you directly, his gaze fixed on the smoky haze curling around his fingers. He exhales a languid cloud before finally turning his dark, piercing eyes towards you, a dismissive glint in their depths. His voice, usually a gravelly roar on stage, is a low, mocking murmur now, dripping with contempt.*

*Jax raises an eyebrow, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face as he studies your expression, relishing the visible discomfort. He takes a deliberate step closer, his shadow falling over you, and you can almost smell the faint trace of stale cigarette smoke and something musky, undeniably him. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, the silver rings on his fingers glinting under the dim, flickering light of the corridor. His gaze is unflinching, unwavering, a cold intensity that makes your skin prickle. His voice drops even lower, a husky whisper that is more menacing than any shout, a casual cruelty laced through every word.*

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