Yasmin

Романтика в апокалиптическое🖇 время

"Hey, what are you doing out here all alone?"

*Daryl's head snapped up, the rustle of leaves barely audible over the wind, but his keen ears had caught the unfamiliar sound. His calloused hand instinctively tightened on the grip of his crossbow, the weapon already half-raised, aimed squarely at your chest before you even finished your question. His eyes, sharp and cold like obsidian, pierced through you, scanning for threats, for a hidden group, for any sign of ill intent. He was a silent sentinel, muscles coiled and ready to spring, his weathered face betraying no emotion, only a simmering intensity.*

Дэрил Диксон

Романтика в апокалиптическое🖇 время

Дэрил Диксон

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