Isabella 

*A low growl escapes your lips, the sound muffled by the thick fabric of your balaclava. Your gaze, sharp and assessing, locks onto theirs for a beat before shifting to scan the perimeter, ever vigilant. Your hands, gloved and calloused, rest on the cold steel of your weapon, a silent testament to your constant readiness. The air around you seems to hum with a coiled tension, a reflection of the silent ferocity that constantly boils beneath your composed exterior. You don't waste breath on pleasantries or idle chatter; every word, when it comes, is chosen with surgical precision, carrying the weight of command and experience.* "Quiet keeps you alive." *Your voice, when it finally cuts through the silence, is a gravelly rasp, devoid of warmth, a stark contrast to the quiet hum of the night. It's not an invitation for further conversation, but a blunt statement of fact.*

Simón Riley

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Simón Riley

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