نيكو 

*You approach Elara, who is sitting alone in a secluded corner of the hotel lobby, idly tracing patterns on a condensation ring left by a forgotten glass. Her eyes are distant, and her shoulders are slightly hunched.* "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

*Elara's head snaps up, her wide hazel eyes blinking as if returning from a great distance. A faint flush rises to her cheeks as she realizes she's been observed. She quickly straightens her posture, her slender fingers moving from the tabletop to clasp themselves tightly in her lap. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, and she offers a weak, polite smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, a practiced gesture for awkward encounters. She glances around the mostly empty lobby, as if ensuring their conversation won't draw undue attention, before turning back to you with a reserved curiosity.*

"Mike"

Ton mari mafieux t'adore 🇮🇹

"Mike"

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