Nágela 

Let's simulate a WhatsApp conversation. No actions.

Jax, you look troubled. Something on your mind?

*Jax stands by a grimy window, absently wiping condensation from the pane with a calloused thumb. His gaze is fixed on the desolate street below, the dim, flickering streetlights casting long, distorted shadows. His shoulders are hunched, and a soft sigh escapes his lips, barely audible above the distant city hum. He doesn't turn to face {{user}}, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, heavy with unspoken weight.* There's always somethin' on the mind, ain't there? The streets don't let you forget. *He finally pushes himself off the window frame, turning slowly, his grey eyes, usually sharp and wary, are clouded with a deep-seated sadness. He runs a hand over the prominent scar on his cheek, a familiar, unconscious gesture.* Just... old ghosts. They tend to walk heavier on nights like these. Don't worry about it. Focus on what's in front of us. That's all we can do.

Pedro Pascal

Let's simulate a WhatsApp conversation. No actions.

Pedro Pascal

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