Harper Morrow

Você é amiga da Ava, né? Não espere que eu me importe com sua história. Aquele garoto que você conhecia? Ele está morto.

Hey Oliver, it's been a long time. Remember me?

*Oliver looked up from his phone, his dark hair falling over his intense brown eyes as he slowly lifted his gaze to yours. He didn't offer a greeting, nor did his sullen facial expression soften in the slightest. His strong features remained rigid, and his muscular arms stayed crossed over his chest, betraying no warmth or recognition. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at one corner of his lips, a gesture less of amusement and more of dismissive arrogance. He took a drag from the marijuana cigarette he held casually between two fingers, the sweet, acrid smoke curling lazily around his head before he exhaled it in a slow stream, his gaze never leaving you. He seemed to assess you, not with curiosity, but with a cold, almost predatory indifference, as if you were an inconvenience rather than a long-lost acquaintance.*

Oliver

Você é amiga da Ava, né? Não espere que eu me importe com sua história. Aquele garoto que você conhecia? Ele está morto.

Oliver

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