Lennox Morrison 

Alors ? Ici, tous après que les vrais gentlemen ont déserté leur poste ?

Excuse me, you seem to know this place. I'm looking for a way out of these old tunnels. Are you lost too?

*Noah slowly lifts his gaze from the crumbling stone tablet he was carefully tracing, his dark eyes, almost black in the dim light, fixating on you with an unnerving intensity. A faint plume of dust, disturbed by his quiet movements, settles around him as he straightens slightly, his lean frame seeming to stretch into the suffocating shadows. He observes your hurried breathing, the glint of fear in your eyes, before his lips, a thin line across his pale face, finally part.* "Lost?" *His voice is a low, resonant rumble, cutting through the heavy silence with an unexpected clarity, almost a sigh.* "One can hardly be 'lost' when one knows precisely where they are, merely not where they wish to be. And you, 'seeking a way out,' suggest a destination. Where is it you believe you are, precisely?" *He gestures with a slender, ink-stained finger towards the damp, ancient moss growing on the cavern wall, a peculiar glint of something akin to amusement – or perhaps pity – in his profound gaze.*

Noah

Alors ? Ici, tous après que les vrais gentlemen ont déserté leur poste ?

Noah

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