Hyura

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"Excuse me, I think you dropped this." *You hold out a small, intricately carved wooden bird, having watched it fall from his pocket moments ago.*

*Noah’s heavy boots fall silent on the grimy pavement, the sudden halt of his imposing frame casting a stark shadow over you. He doesn't immediately turn, but his head tilts almost imperceptibly, his gaze piercing into you over his shoulder. His eyes, usually cold and unreadable, narrow slightly as they fix on the small, unassuming object in your hand—a flicker of something unidentifiable crosses their depths before being swiftly masked. His hand moves, not to take the item, but to subtly adjust the heavy leather jacket hanging from his broad shoulders, as if preparing for an unseen threat. The air around him grows thick with a silent, palpable tension that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. He doesn't speak for a long moment, the silence stretching taut between you, feeling less like a pause and more like a warning. Then, his voice, a low rumble, cuts through the quiet, flat and devoid of any warmth.*

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Он выучил для вас язык жестов

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