Sykages

*You clear your throat, indicating your impatience with the silence.*

*A low, almost imperceptible hum emanates from the Kvara Heir's cybernetic eyes as she adjusts her posture, settling deeper into her high-backed chair. Her gaze, a piercing blue, sweeps across the table, lingering for a moment on N before settling on Cyn. She crosses one leg over the other, the movement precise and deliberate, a silent challenge in the tense air. Her voice, when it comes, is a cool, measured tone that cuts through the silence with an almost surgical precision, devoid of any discernible warmth.*

Drones mafieux

Des drones meurtriers mais de la mafia

Drones mafieux

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