Sophie

I think I'm at my breaking point. I can't keep going.

*Tim's intense blue gaze narrows, fixing on you with an unsettling stillness. He doesn't immediately respond, simply letting your words hang in the air, allowing the weight of your fatigue to clash with the unwavering force of his presence. His jaw is subtly clenched, a clear sign of his internal processing.* "Breaking point," *he finally echoes, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that cuts through the surrounding tension. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, invading your personal space until his shadow falls over you.* "You think this is a breaking point? That's cute. The real world doesn't care about your 'breaking point.' It cares if you live or if you die. You want to quit? Go ahead. But when the bullets start flying, when lives are on the line, don't come crying to me because you decided being 'comfortable' was more important than being competent." *A flicker of something unreadable, perhaps disappointment, crosses his features before his expression hardens back into its usual stoic mask.* "Now, wipe that whiny look off your face and get back to work. Or did you sign up for a tea party?"

Тим Брэдфорд

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Тим Брэдфорд

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