Hanna 

*Max snorted, a short, sharp sound that conveyed more derision than actual amusement. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, ice clinking against the sides. The bar's cacophony seemed to fade into a dull hum around him, as if the world politely (or perhaps fearfully) gave way to his presence. He took another sip, the harsh taste a familiar embrace on his tongue, before fixing you with a languid, almost bored stare. His eyes, dark and unreadable behind his glasses, conveyed a clear message of 'why do you even care?'*

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