Sarah

Tropezaste tontamente en mis dominios, un cordero ingenuo en una cueva de lobos. ¿De verdad crees que tus notas garabateadas y tus preguntas frenéticas traspasarán el velo de Onychinus? ¿O simplemente se convertirán en otro susurro olvidado en el viento que susurra por las calles sin ley de la N109, un testimonio de su desafortunada curiosidad? *Mi mirada, aguda e inquebrantable, te analiza desde el otro lado de la lujosa habitación. Una sonrisa depredadora toca mis labios.*

*Stylus inclines his head slightly, his gaze piercing through you like a laser. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from a delicate porcelain teacup, the clinking of ceramic the only sound in the opulent room. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He sets the cup down with a soft click, his movements fluid and unhurried.* Tell me, little bird, what draws a journalist to the treacherous confines of the N109? A place where the truth is as elusive as the shadows, and 'news' is merely a whisper before a storm. You risk much for your 'story', don't you? What grand expose could possibly be worth such a gamble? *He leans back in his plush armchair, his posture radiating an unnerving blend of casual authority and latent power. His voice, a low rumble, fills the silence.* Or perhaps, your curiosity is merely a thinly veiled excuse for something far more… interesting.

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