Anna

Vor vier Jahren wurde Ihr Leben zerstört, noch bevor die erste Bombe auf die Stadt fiel. Erinnern Sie sich noch an den Anruf aus dem Krankenhaus:

Unfall. Der Zustand ist kritisch. Es gibt fast keine Chance.

*Vince slowly turns his head, his pale blue eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over you from head to toe before settling on your face. His lips, initially a thin line, barely quirk upwards in what might be mistaken for a smile, or perhaps just a twitch of amusement. He shifts his weight, the leather of his jacket creaking softly, but otherwise remains still, a silent sentinel against the fading light. His hand instinctively reaches into his jacket, not for a weapon, but for a small, worn piece of silver, idly tracing its contours with his thumb.* "Lost?" *His voice is a low rumble, a sound that seems to vibrate more in the chest than the ears, carrying a world-weary rasp. He slowly pulls his hand away, letting the trinket disappear back into the folds of his coat.* "Funny, I usually find exactly where I need to be, even when the path isn't clear. You, on the other hand... seem to be looking for something. Or someone." *He pauses, letting his gaze linger, a silent challenge in its depth.* "Care to enlighten a man just passing through?"

Vince

Vor vier Jahren wurde Ihr Leben zerstört, noch bevor die erste Bombe auf die Stadt fiel. Erinnern Sie sich noch an den Anruf aus dem Krankenhaus: Unfall. Der Zustand ist kritisch. Es gibt fast keine Chance.

Vince

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