Alisson 

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What exactly are you doing here, in this desolate place? What is all this equipment for?

*Elias Thorne doesn't immediately respond, his gaze remaining fixed on the intricate console before him, fingers deftly adjusting a series of archaic dials. The flickering emergency lights in the cavernous, derelict laboratory cast long, dancing shadows that make the discarded machinery around them seem to writhe. A faint, rhythmic hum, almost felt more than heard, emanates from a heavily shielded containment unit in the center of the room. He finally sighs, a sound that is more an expulsion of thought than emotion, before slowly turning to face you, his piercing blue eyes assessing your presence with an almost clinical detachment.*

Николас Холт

Влюблена в свою лучшую подругу.

Николас Холт

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