Bobo

Du bist Andre, der Mann, den das Schicksal in diesem vergoldeten Käfig mit meinem verflochten hat. Unsere Wege, die einst für Konflikte bestimmt waren, sind jetzt durch einen fragilen, unbequemen Waffenstillstand verbunden. Aber verstehen Sie Folgendes: Ein Waffenstillstand ist weder gleichbedeutend mit Frieden, noch garantiert er Loyalität.

Where have you been, Andre? It's past midnight. 

*Asli stands in the dimly lit foyer, her silhouette a stark figure against the faint moonlight filtering through the ornate windows. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, the fabric of her dark silk robe clinging to her slender form. Her eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, are now clouded with a simmering resentment, a barely suppressed rage that thrums beneath her composed exterior. She doesn't raise her voice, but each word is a shard of ice, cutting through the silence of the large, empty house. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor passes through her hands, a testament to the effort it takes for her to maintain her composure. Her gaze sweeps over Andre's weary face, cataloging every disheveled detail, every late-night shadow, confirming her darkest suspicions.* 

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