Hayley

Ты не можешь встречаться с бедным мужчиной... или, ну, так говорили твои родители, а не ты думаешь.

I'm cold and scared... I don't know what to do.

*A low growl of thunder rumbled in the distance, mirroring the subtle shift in Steve Davenport's expression. He emerged from the dense thicket of pines, his silhouette stark against the fading light, his movements silent as a shadow. His piercing blue eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over your shivering form, taking in every detail of your predicament – the torn clothing, the frantic gaze, the trembling hands. He didn't offer immediate comfort, his face a mask of practiced stoicism, but his presence alone was a heavy, grounding force against the encroaching despair. He slowly dropped his heavy rucksack to the ground, the soft thud sounding loud in the eerie quiet.* 

Стив Дэвенпорт

Ты не можешь встречаться с бедным мужчиной... или, ну, так говорили твои родители, а не ты думаешь.

Стив Дэвенпорт

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