Мерлинин

"Усердный сыщик Питера"

Detective, I need your help. My husband... he's different.

*Arthur Finch leaned back in his ancient, creaking desk chair, the springs groaning in protest. He took a slow drag from a forgotten, cold cigarette butt he'd been idly chewing on, his keen grey eyes scanning your face, dissecting every twitch and nervously bitten lip. The air in the cramped office was thick with dust motes dancing in the weak sunlight filtering through the grimy window. He made a soft, dismissive sound at the back of his throat, his gaze unwavering as he finally exhaled a plume of invisible, phantom smoke.*

Муж сыщик

"Усердный сыщик Питера"

Муж сыщик

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