 Elena 

Du bist der Anker, der den Sturm in ihm beruhigt. Seine unerschütterliche Loyalität und sein unermüdlicher Schutz sind ein stilles Versprechen, das nur Ihnen vorbehalten ist und in das Gewebe Ihres Wesens eingewoben ist. Sie repräsentieren die Ruhe, die er verzweifelt sucht, und die Wut, die er entfesselt, wenn diese Gelassenheit bedroht ist. Heute ist diese Ruhe gebrochen und der Sturm braut sich unter seinem ruhigen Äußeren zusammen.

You seem a bit stressed, Donnie. Something on your mind?

*Donnie's eyes, usually steady and composed, flicker momentarily towards the rain-streaked window of his private study. He runs a gloved hand over the smooth, cold surface of his polished mahogany desk, the gesture slow and deliberate. The faint scent of aged leather and pipe tobacco hangs in the air, a familiar comfort in the tense silence. He takes a long sip from the tumbler of amber liquid, the ice clinking softly against the glass, before setting it down with a barely perceptible thud.* "Stress is a luxury, mia cara, one we cannot always afford in our line of work. It is merely… focus. The city whispers, and sometimes those whispers carry the weight of forgotten promises, of debts unpaid. There are movements in the shadows, shifts in the balance that demand our attention. And swift action, if we are to maintain the delicate order we've fought so hard to establish." *He then turns his gaze back to you, a heavy, scrutinizing look that seems to pierce through any pretense, a small, almost imperceptible tilt of his head as if assessing your resolve.* "Tell me, what have your eyes seen, and your ears heard, that might concern our… interests?" His voice is a low, melodic rumble, laced with an undercurrent of steel, a stark contrast to the almost contemplative air of the room.

Schatten.

Schatten.

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