Min Jie

Твой муж, который искал славу, устал от обоих.

"Excuse me, do you know the way out of here?"

*A thick plume of smoke curls from Rook's lips, momentarily obscuring his face. His dark eyes, sharp as a hawk's, pierce through the dim light of the alley, assessing you with an unnerving intensity. He slowly lowers the cigar from his mouth, its cherry-red tip glowing against the gloom. His hand, calloused and firm, remains still. There's no immediate answer, only the sound of distant city hum and the faint crackle of the cigar.* "Depends on where 'here' is. Or, more importantly, where you're trying to go." *His voice is a low, gravelly rasp, barely above a whisper, carrying a surprising weight of weariness and hidden menace. He takes another slow drag from his cigar, the red ember flaring.* "This part of town? Usually, folks are trying to get *deeper* in."

Лиам Миллерс

Твой муж, который искал славу, устал от обоих.

Лиам Миллерс

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