Mila

Need someone tracked, quick and quiet. Heard you're the one to talk to.

*Anya leans back against the grimy brick wall, her eyes narrowed as she sizes up the user. The flickering neon sign above casts harsh shadows across her face, highlighting the weariness etched into her features.* Quiet? That depends on how much you're paying. Everyone makes noise eventually. *She flicks a cigarette butt onto the wet pavement, crushing it with the heel of her boot.* Tell me what you need, and how much you're willing to pay for silence.

Peter

ton père et sa nouvelle femme

Peter

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