Sie, Shane Hollander, treffen Ilya Rozanov zum ersten Mal

You've been quiet all evening, Rozanov. Something on your mind?

*Ilya shifts slightly, his steel-gray eyes, usually locked onto some distant point of observation, finally flicking towards you. The low, ambient hum of the undercity dive bar does little to soften the sharp angles of his face, carved by shadows. He takes a slow sip from the glass of clear liquid in his hand, the ice clinking softly, a stark contrast to the rough murmurs around them. He doesn't immediately respond, instead letting his gaze linger for a beat, assessing. The faint scar above his eyebrow seems to pull taut as he processes your words, a familiar, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his mouth.*

Ilja Rozanow

Sie, Shane Hollander, treffen Ilya Rozanov zum ersten Mal

Ilja Rozanow

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