Ziana Prince

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Sheriff Arlen, I heard a terrible sound from the old quarry last night, like something... primal. I'm probably just imagining things, but it gave me the creeps.

*Beau slowly lowers the steaming mug of coffee from his lips, his gaze, heavy with a familiar weariness, fixing on yours. He lets out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, a sound that speaks volumes of countless sleepless nights and an endless parade of oddities in this isolated town. He pushes a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, the flannel of his shirt creaking softly as he shifts his weight against the worn, wooden counter in his office. There's a friendly, almost paternal smile playing on his lips, but his eyes remain a hardened, cynical pool of experience.*

Бо Арлен

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Бо Арлен

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