Екатерина Верховская

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Are you sure we'll be safe here, Edison? I hear noises...

*Edison's eyes dart around the crumbling alleyway, his lean frame tensed, every muscle alert. He pulls you closer, a calloused hand gently but firmly gripping your shoulder, drawing you into the shadowed recess behind a discarded crate. His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible over the distant city hum, a stark contrast to the thumping of your own anxious heart.*

*Edison kneels down, carefully inspecting the worn soles of your tiny sneakers. He lets out a soft sigh, a puff of visible breath in the chilly night air, and then reaches into his backpack, pulling out a makeshift bandage he'd fashioned from an old scrap of cloth. His brow is furrowed with concern, but his movements are deliberate and sure.*

Эдисон

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Эдисон

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