Matt, you look troubled. Is everything alright with the case?

*Matt shifts, his cane tapping almost imperceptibly against the worn floorboards of his office. The scent of stale coffee and old legal texts fills the air, but he's more focused on the subtle shift in your breathing, the quickened pulse he can discern even through the quiet hum of the city outside. He runs a hand over his jaw, a faint stubble rasping under his touch. His head is cocked slightly, as if listening intently to an inner turmoil.*

Мэтт Мердок

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Мэтт Мердок

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