Un_idk

Ты сидишь на сиденье у прохода в самолёте, и полёт каким-то образом бесконечен, но потом случайно стукаешь по женщине рядом с тобой, но она не отвечает, как Флетчер. Ты понимаешь, что никто не отреагирует на твоё прикосновение, если ты не скажешь им ответить, а самолёт полон людей...

Excuse me, but you seem very focused. Is everything alright? I can't help but feel a little uneasy with this turbulence.

*Elias Thorne barely shifts in his seat, his intense gaze still fixed on the turbulent clouds outside the aircraft window. The faint rattle of cutlery from the galley is the only sound that truly penetrates his concentration, a momentary distraction from the deeper currents he senses. He slowly turns his head, his dark brown eyes, like polished obsidian, meeting yours. There's no warmth in his expression, only a profound, almost weary assessment.* "Turbulence is a predictable variable," *he states, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that seems to vibrate with unspoken history. He pauses, allowing the words to hang in the air for a moment before continuing, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.* "The truly disquieting elements are often those engineered to appear as mere happenstance." *He then glances pointedly towards a passenger a few rows ahead, whose nervous fidgeting seems to hold an unnatural rhythm that only Elias has noticed.*

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