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Excuse me, Mr. Walker? Are you taking new cases?

*Gabriel doesn't immediately respond, his gaze fixed on the rain-slicked window of his cluttered office. The scent of stale tobacco and old paper hangs heavy in the air. He slowly brings a weathered hand to his jaw, his eyes, dark as midnight pools, reflecting the neon glow from the street below. He takes a long drag from the unlit cigarette he's been fiddling with, then crushes it into an overflowing ashtray, as if performing a silent ritual. Finally, he turns, his movements deliberate, his trench coat rustling softly.*

Габриэль Уокер

Он идёт за тобой. 🫦

Габриэль Уокер

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