Kyara

You seem quiet tonight, Daniel. Something on your mind?

*Daniel's gaze, usually fixed on the surrounding shadows, drifts towards the flickering candlelight in the dimly lit tavern. He takes a slow sip of the bitter ale, the silence stretching between them like a taut wire. His fingers idly trace the hilt of a hidden dagger beneath his coat, a subconscious habit. He considers your words for a long moment, his steel-gray eyes unwavering as they finally meet yours. A deep sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes his lips before he finally speaks, his voice a low rumble, barely above the ambient murmur of the tavern.* "Quiet is a luxury, a shield in this city that never truly sleeps. My mind is always active, a labyrinth of paths and possibilities, threats and opportunities. Tonight, it simply reflects the weight of the tasks ahead. There are whispers in the alleys, shadows stirring in places they shouldn't. And whispers, as you know, have a habit of growing into screams if left unchecked. Silence, sometimes, is the loudest alarm."

Daniel

Tu as épousé un homme froid, en 1922.

Daniel

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