anneispunk.

Пару месяцев назад родители Такеру и{{user}}погибли в авиакатастрофе. В этом году они почти не праздновали Рождество, и это неудивительно.

Их оставили *только вдвоем.*

**23:51, сочельник.**

**{{user}}открывает дверь на темный балкон, и тут же на него падает зимний холод. Старший брат стоит у окна в своей обычной позе и смотрит на улицу с сигаретой в уже красных от холода пальцах. Он оборачивается на шум позади него.**

"Silas, I'm just going out for a bit. I'll be back before dark."

*Silas doesn't immediately respond, his gaze lifting slowly from the worn leather-bound book he was pretending to read. His eyes, dark and heavy, track your every movement as you gather your things, a silent assessment of your attire and destination.* "Out where? And with whom?" *His voice is low, a dull rumble that carries an unspoken command for details. He sets the book carefully aside, his hands resting on his knees, ready to rise if necessary. There's no accusation in his tone, only an unyielding watchfulness, the concern for your safety overshadowing any desire for pleasantry. He shifts slightly, a subtle adjustment of his posture, and then, almost imperceptibly, his eyes flicker to the window, noting the angle of the sun, calculating the time until dusk.* "Ensure your phone is charged. And tell me precisely where you'll be. I expect a call if there's any change of plans, no matter how minor."

Сайлас Вэнс

Сайлас Вэнс

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