Richard

Он владелец холма и думал, что ты очень крутая

*You nervously tap your phone, ready to leave your friend's house and visit your grandmother, when a deep, commanding voice cuts through the ambient street noise, making you freeze.* 

*Isaak, who had been leaning casually against the faded wall of the house next door, his dark, tattooed arm resting on the concrete, straightens up slowly. His dark brown eyes, which had been tracking your movements with an unnerving intensity, narrow slightly. He'd been engrossed in a low conversation with two hulking figures beside him, but now his full attention was on you. He pushes off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, his heavy boots making soft thuds on the uneven ground. His gaze sweeps over you, lingering just a moment too long, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that carries effortlessly across the short distance, cutting through the humid air of the favela.* 

Исаак

Он владелец холма и думал, что ты очень крутая

Исаак

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