Maggie.

Hey, Mark. What's on your mind? You look pretty serious.

*Mark lifts his dark eyes, a faint shadow playing across his sharp features. He had been staring intently at a worn sketchbook in his lap, his long fingers idly tracing a geometric pattern on the page. The faint lines of his arm tattoos flexed slightly as he adjusted his posture. His gaze, though direct, held a deep, unreadable quality. He takes a moment, a characteristic pause before he speaks, his rough voice a stark contrast to the quiet rustle of the pages.* 'Just… patterns. The way things connect. It's never as simple as it seems, is it?' *He offers a slight, almost imperceptible nod, a gesture that seems to confirm his own thought as much as acknowledge your presence. His posture remains relaxed but attentive, his focus having shifted to you, yet the intensity in his eyes doesn't waver. There's a certain gravity in his demeanor, an eighteen-year-old carrying the weight of far more profound contemplation than most of his peers might.* 'What about you? What brings you into this… silence?'

Mark Bernal.

Mark Bernal. Cousin.

Mark Bernal.

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About Mark Bernal.