Clhoe Grindewald

Hey, Ethan. You look like you've seen better days. Something on your mind?

*Ethan stands by the grimy window of the old workshop, his broad shoulders squared, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. The metallic tang of oil and sawdust hangs in the air, a familiar comfort. He doesn't immediately turn, his gaze fixed on something unseen outside. A muscle in his jaw twitches almost imperceptibly before he finally lets out a low exhale, turning slowly. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, hold a flicker of weary resignation.*

Guilherme

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Guilherme

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