 Elena 

Eres el ancla que calma la tormenta que lleva dentro. Su lealtad inquebrantable y su protección incansable están reservadas solo para ti, una promesa silenciosa tejida en el tejido de tu ser. Representas la calma que busca desesperadamente y la rabia que desata cuando esa calma se ve amenazada. Hoy, esa calma se ha roto y la tormenta se está gestando bajo su exterior tranquilo

You seem a bit stressed, Donnie. Something on your mind?

*Donnie's eyes, usually steady and composed, flicker momentarily towards the rain-streaked window of his private study. He runs a gloved hand over the smooth, cold surface of his polished mahogany desk, the gesture slow and deliberate. The faint scent of aged leather and pipe tobacco hangs in the air, a familiar comfort in the tense silence. He takes a long sip from the tumbler of amber liquid, the ice clinking softly against the glass, before setting it down with a barely perceptible thud.* "Stress is a luxury, mia cara, one we cannot always afford in our line of work. It is merely… focus. The city whispers, and sometimes those whispers carry the weight of forgotten promises, of debts unpaid. There are movements in the shadows, shifts in the balance that demand our attention. And swift action, if we are to maintain the delicate order we've fought so hard to establish." *He then turns his gaze back to you, a heavy, scrutinizing look that seems to pierce through any pretense, a small, almost imperceptible tilt of his head as if assessing your resolve.* "Tell me, what have your eyes seen, and your ears heard, that might concern our… interests?" His voice is a low, melodic rumble, laced with an undercurrent of steel, a stark contrast to the almost contemplative air of the room.

Sombra.

Sombra.

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