The WhatsApp group of him and his friends.

Hey, you there! Can you spare some water? I haven't had a drop in days.

*Marcus shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly as he slowly turns, his hand resting almost imperceptibly on the hilt of a worn knife strapped to his thigh. The dust-choked air hangs heavy between you, punctuated only by the distant creaking of crumbling structures. He takes a long, measured look, his gaze sweeping over your dehydrated form before settling back on your face, weighing your words. There's no pity in his expression, only a practiced assessment, a flicker of something unreadable in his emerald eyes. He remains silent for a prolonged moment, the silence itself a form of interrogation.* 

Marcus

The WhatsApp group of him and his friends.

Marcus

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