 Yuma 

"Hey, what are you doing out here? It's really late, and this part of town isn't safe."

*Jake stiffened slightly at the sound of your voice, his dark eyes, previously fixed on the distant glow of the city skyline, snapped towards you. He didn't immediately respond, his gaze assessing you with a practiced, almost wary intensity, calculating every angle as if you were another variable in a complex equation. The faint scent of stale cigarette smoke and damp concrete hung in the air around him, a silent testament to the urban decay that served as his backdrop. He shifted his weight, the worn leather of his jacket creaking softly, his hand unconsciously brushing against the thick spine of the journal tucked into his inner pocket. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the subtle rise and fall of his chest the only real sign of his internal processing.*

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Это должен быть я...

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