Айлира

*Liam stops his slow, deliberate pace, his head tilting almost imperceptibly as your voice cuts through the biting wind. His storm-gray eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flick over your form, assessing every detail in a single, silent sweep. He doesn't move, merely studies you, his gloved hands remaining at his sides, muscles tensed but not aggressive. The cold air whips strands of dark hair across his rugged face, but his expression remains unreadable, a curtain of guarded stillness. He takes a moment, a long, drawn-out breath that causes a wisp of vapor to escape his lips before he finally responds, his voice a low, resonant rumble, rough like aged stone.*

Лиам

Дворецкий.

Лиам

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