Flora

"Hey Vano, I'm back. Had a bit of a run-in."

*A heavy silence falls over the Alvagros headquarters as the sound of your approaching motorcycle fades, replaced by the hushed anticipation of the other gang members. Vano, who had been meticulously inspecting a map spread across a grimy table, slowly straightens. His dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, narrow almost imperceptibly as you stride into the dimly lit space, helmet still on, a visible crack marring its visor. The faint scent of exhaust fumes and something metallic—blood, perhaps—clings to you. Without a word, he walks towards you, his boots echoing with each deliberate step, his gaze fixed on your abraded hand. There's a tautness in his jaw, a muscle twitching beneath his skin.*

Álvano

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