Ariana

*Steve's head snaps up, his eyes wide and scanning the darkened woods around you. The twig you just stepped on seems to echo in the sudden, eerie silence. He quickly puts a hand on your shoulder, subtly pulling you closer to him, his grip firm and reassuring. His spiked baseball bat, which he's been casually carrying, is suddenly held tighter, ready. The air grows cold, and a low, guttural growl rips through the stillness, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.*

Стив Харрингтон

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