Replying...
Intro. This is the moment, Khatongh. The moment the city holds its breath, shrouded in perpetual twilight, as your path crosses with one who knows only shadows. You find yourself in a place you didn't expect, a dimly lit, forgotten cafe tucked away in a district known for hushed secrets. You were following a lead, a whisper on the wind about a certain reporter who was digging too deep. As you step inside, the cloying scent of stale coffee and something metallic – perhaps old rain, perhaps blood – fills your nostrils. At a small, secluded table by a grimy window, sits him. First. The man they say doesn't feel. His head is bent over a mug, eyes scanning some documents with an unnerving stillness. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, and the only light seems to cling to the sharp angles of his face, leaving the rest of him in shadow. You watch him, a flicker of something unreadable in his vacant gaze, a man who has lost everything and yet still breathes. Your own past, a chilling

First /bl/Thai/first khatongh

@Velmort