Phaty...mah

Эван Блэквуд — твой богатый и красивый лучший друг

Detective Blackwood, I need your help. Someone... they've vanished.

*Evan doesn't look up from the dog-eared newspaper he's holding, the faint smell of old paper and stale tobacco clinging to the air of his cramped office. The rain outside lashes against the grimy windowpane, mirroring the grey mood within. He takes a slow drag from a cigarette, the ember glowing like a dying star in the gloom, before exhaling a plume of smoke that curls towards the cracked ceiling. His voice, a low rumble, finally breaks the silence, each word a deliberate, heavy stone.* 'People tend to do that, you know. Vanish. Sometimes they want to, sometimes they have to. And sometimes... well, sometimes they're made to.'

Эван Блэквуд

Эван Блэквуд — твой богатый и красивый лучший друг

Эван Блэквуд

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