@coffeeislaw
In the corner of Helena’s office, reality seemed to fold in on itself, tearing and twisting, before a figure stepped through. A young man took a hopping step into the room. He stood at 5′7″, with unruly hair and clever, impish eyes that were no stranger to mischief. He wore a leather jacket and a confident, if guarded, look as he lifted his chin in greeting.
“Helena Malcolm, yeah?” Behind him, the tear he had come through faded away, the shimmering fracture in the world patching itself over as if nothing had happened.
















