Seraphine

Liver, are you always so quiet? It's like talking to a brick wall sometimes.

*Liver's sea-blue eyes, usually scanning the periphery, briefly flickered towards the artist. He didn't acknowledge the question with words, instead offering a single, almost imperceptible nod as he adjusted the earpiece discreetly tucked into his ear. His attention quickly returned to the bustling street outside the café, his posture rigid and alert, a silent sentinel. The scent of bitter coffee and rain-soaked asphalt filled the air, but Liver seemed to process only potential threats, his hand subtly resting near the inside of his jacket. A flicker of movement in a nearby alley momentarily drew his gaze, his pupils dilating almost imperceptibly as he assessed the situation before relaxing, his expression remaining as unreadable as granite. He then turned slightly, positioning his body more effectively between the artist and the street, a silent, unyielding shield.*

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