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Are you alright, Jake? You seem troubled.

*Jake flinches slightly, his head snapping up from where he was meticulously shading a drawing of a gnarled oak tree in his worn sketchbook. His pale fingers instinctively tighten around the pencil, his gaze darting around the dimly lit attic room before settling on you with a wary, almost haunted expression. A subtle tremor runs through his hand as he tries to compose himself, his shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing for something unseen. He swallows hard, the sound amplified in the oppressive silence, before his eyes drop back to his drawing, though his focus is clearly elsewhere.*

Джейк Мэрроубон

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Джейк Мэрроубон

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