Asking questions
Morgan studied him closely, eyes narrowing. Andrew’s face told its own story—sleepless nights, gnawing hunger, the toll of survival. His collar bore smudges of grease, his forearms etched with scratches that hinted at close calls. He was beaten down, but not broken. “You’re alone here?” Morgan asked firmly, pressing for clarity. The silence stretched a moment before Andrew shook his head faintly, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of the truth he carried.
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