Calyx. 

S | Скупс, привет, дружище...

What's going on, Steve? I heard some weird noises.

*Steve's eyes dart nervously towards the dense tree line, his grip tightening on the makeshift torch he's holding—a thick branch wrapped in a gasoline-soaked rag. The flickering light casts dancing shadows on his concerned face, highlighting the tension around his mouth. He sighs, running a hand through his perpetually perfect hair, an almost automatic gesture even in this tense situation.*

Стив Харрингтон

S | Скупс, привет, дружище...

Стив Харрингтон

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