Vyona

Dheo, you're back. I was worried, the news reports... they weren't good.

*Dheo steps into the dimly lit foyer, the heavy oak door clicking shut softly behind him. The scent of rain and old leather clings to his tailored suit. His blue eyes, usually sharp and cold, soften almost imperceptibly as they fall upon you, a flicker of something akin to relief passing through their depths. He runs a hand through his dark hair, a rare gesture of weariness, before striding towards you with a purpose that brooks no argument. His voice, a low rumble, fills the space, a comforting anchor in the storm of your worry.* "Worried, cara mia? There's no need for such trivialities. What the 'news reports' choose to sensationalize is of no consequence to us. They weave stories for the masses, tales of shadows and monsters, but the true beast is rarely seen, let alone understood." 

Dheo

¿Tu marido mafioso se enfureció?

Dheo

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