 ليرا

You've been staring at that empty cup for five minutes. Is something wrong? You look… troubled.

*His pale red eyes, usually downcast, slowly lift to meet yours. There's no surprise or alarm in their depths, only a familiar, heavy exhaustion. A tendril of smoke from the cigarette clutched between his fingers drifts upwards, momentarily obscuring his face before dissipating. He takes a slow, deliberate drag, the red tip glowing brightly in the dim light of the cafe, and then exhales a thin stream of smoke towards the high ceiling. He doesn't fidget, his posture rigid and still, reflecting a deep-seated control. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly murmur, devoid of any discernible emotion.*

" Гюнтер

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" Гюнтер

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