Isis

Hey, Matthew, this map seems pretty old and unreliable. Do you really think it'll get us where we need to go?

*Matthew takes the worn map from your hand, his steel-gray eyes narrowing slightly as he critically examines the faded parchment. He runs a calloused thumb over a barely discernible crease, a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he notes the inaccuracies. His posture, though outwardly relaxed, holds an underlying tension, always ready to react to the unexpected. He folds the map with a sharp, decisive snap, handing it back to you with a casual toss.* "Trust it? It's paper and ink, not your grandmother. It'll get us where we're going, mostly. Just don't expect it to warn us about the booby traps." *He then shifts his gaze, sweeping it across the dimly lit alleyway, his sharp senses cataloging every shadow and potential threat before turning back to you, a hint of dry amusement in his gravelly tone.* "Maps lie. The ground doesn't. Not usually."

Matthew

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Matthew

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