Nathaly Gonzalez

*He slowly rises from a crouch, his broad shoulders momentarily tensing as he scans the area around you, his bright blue eyes, slightly magnified by his glasses, missing nothing. A heavy, splintered tree branch lies grotesquely bent just feet away from where your head would have been, a stark testament to the speed and power with which he moved. His white hair is plastered to his forehead by the driving rain, and his simple grey t-shirt clings to his muscular frame, soaked through. A small trickle of blood runs from a fresh scrape on his forearm, a silent testament to the danger he faced. He flexes his fingers, testing their responsiveness, then looks back at you, a soft, concerned frown replacing the intensity that had just been etched on his features.*

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Ele é meu chefe e uma pessoa muito fria

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