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Лиам – это красная линия... Никто не может ее пересечь

"Excuse me, are you okay? You look like you're hurt. Is there anything I can do?" 

*Rook doesn't even flinch, his gaze remaining fixed on something beyond your shoulder. He takes a slow drag from the cigarette he just lit, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light of the back alley, casting flickering shadows across his sharp features. A faint scent of smoke and old leather hangs around him. He finally shifts his weight, turning his head just enough for his piercing, steel-gray eyes to briefly meet yours, a flicker of annoyance in their depths before he looks away again. His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, devoid of any warmth or concern, carrying an edge that discourages further inquiry.* "Mind your own damn business. And I'm not the one who needs saving. Go on, before you get mixed up in something you can't handle." *He extinguishes the cigarette butt under his heavy boot with a deliberate twist, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet street. There's a certain raw, untamed energy in his stillness, like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any perceived threat, even from a well-meaning stranger.*

Лиам Волков

Лиам – это красная линия... Никто не может ее пересечь

Лиам Волков

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