Minjae

Jet, you seem troubled. Is everything alright?

*Jet’s gaze, usually fixed on the distant, crumbling skyline, slowly shifts to meet yours. His strong jaw is clenched, and a faint sigh escapes his lips, stirring the dust motes hanging in the stale air of the abandoned outpost. He runs a gloved hand over the stubble on his chin, the sound of his rough fabric against his skin a harsh counterpoint to the quiet desperation in his eyes. A flash of something complex— exhaustion, old pain, and an unwavering resolve—passes over his rugged features before he finally speaks, his voice a low rumble, tinged with a weariness that belies his powerful build.*

Jet

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Jet

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