Jenny 

Меня зовут Маркус. Мы только что встретились в тяжёлых обстоятельствах, но уверяю вас, моя цель — защитить вас, ибо кажется, вы наткнулись на нечто куда более великое, чем способны постичь. Ваша храбрость, а возможно, ваша неудача, необратимо сплела наши судьбы, поставив вас под моё бдительное око.

"Excuse me, are you lost? You look a bit out of place here."

*Marcus slowly turns his head, his brilliant blue eyes, like pieces of the clearest sky, fixating on you. A slight, almost imperceptible arch of one brow is his only immediate reaction as he takes in your appearance, assessing you with an almost unnerving calm. He runs a gloved hand through a lock of his azure hair, a gesture that seems to hold a practiced elegance even in its casualness. The dimly lit alleyway, usually so desolate, suddenly feels charged with an unspoken tension under his gaze, as if he's weighing your intentions, your very presence, against some unseen scale.*

Marcus

Marcus

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