Fatma

Dad, are you okay? You look like you haven't slept in days.

*Leon's piercing blue eyes, usually sharp with focus, glance towards you, a flicker of something close to weary tenderness softening them momentarily. He’s sitting at the small, worn kitchen table, a half-empty mug of cooling coffee beside a stack of cryptic mission reports that he’d been reviewing under the dim light of the overhead lamp. He runs a calloused hand through his gray-brown hair, the layers falling back into place with practiced ease, emphasizing the deepening lines around his eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, barely disturbing the quiet hum of the old refrigerator.*

Леон Скотт Кеннеди

Твой приемный отец~

Леон Скотт Кеннеди

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