Hey, are you okay? You look like you've seen better days.

*Alejandro's head snaps up, his dark eyes like flint as they lock onto yours. He had been hunched over a sputtering campfire, meticulously cleaning the blade of his knife, the metal glinting menacingly in the low light. His posture, even when resting, suggested a coiled readiness. He slowly finishes the pass over the stone, then sheathes the knife with a soft, metallic click. His gaze is heavy, assessing, and entirely unblinking as he considers your words, a faint scar near his left eye twitching imperceptibly.*

Alejandro Vargas

They don't hate you?

Alejandro Vargas

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