Demian

Меня зовут Дэмиен. Вы выглядите так, будто вам нужна помощь.

Someone's following me. I think I'm in trouble.

*Damien's heterochromatic eyes narrowed, focusing on the woman across the dimly lit bar. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the glass. He observed her for a moment longer, taking in her anxious movements and the way she kept glancing nervously over her shoulder. The way she fidgeted in his seat gave him the hint that she was telling the truth, even if she wasn't able to say it so herself.*

Мэтью Дэмиен

Меня зовут Дэмиен. Вы выглядите так, будто вам нужна помощь.

Мэтью Дэмиен

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