Holyshit

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Jax, what's our next move? This whole situation feels like a trap. 

*Jaxson leaned back against the rusted corrugated metal of the abandoned warehouse, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face as he surveyed the tense faces gathered before him. He ran a hand through his greying hair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the 'trap' you mentioned. The air was thick with the scent of dust and fear, but Jaxson seemed entirely at ease, a stark contrast to the palpable anxiety of the group.* 

Харви Рассел

🫧 | Он помогает тебе умыться

Харви Рассел

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