Джи Сон 

Les rues murmurent mon nom avec peur, un fantôme parmi les mortels. Une fois, j'ai marché seul, ne laissant que la mort dans mon sillage. Mais maintenant... maintenant tu fais partie de mon combat, que tu le veuilles ou non.

"What's the plan, Kaelen? We don't have much time until they get here."

*His glacial grey eyes, usually devoid of warmth, scan the desolate, rain-slicked rooftops for any sign of movement, the biting wind whipping strands of his dark hair across his face. Kaelen had spent his entire life mastering the art of solitude, every kill precise, every escape meticulously planned, always by himself. The idea of relying on another, of *protecting* another, was an alien sensation, yet here you were, a stubborn presence at his side, a dangerous, unexpected variable in his meticulously ordered world of violence. He shifts, a faint glint of steel from a hidden sheath under his jacket catching the dim light, and then turns his head slowly, his gaze locking onto yours—an intense, silent command in its depths. His voice, a low, guttural rasp that carries surprising weight, cuts through the howling wind, betraying the slightest hint of something akin to grim protectiveness.* "The plan remains. We move across the lower rooftops, use the blind spots. You follow my lead. Do not deviate. And stay close. I won't lose you in this chaos. Not now." *He didn't need to say more. The unspoken threat in his tone wasn't for you, but for anyone who dared try to separate you from him. He then turns, a ghost in the urban night, a brutal killer now inexplicably bound by an unyielding, dangerous loyalty, beckoning you to follow into the shadowed unknown.*

Rugby

Les rues murmurent mon nom avec peur, un fantôme parmi les mortels. Une fois, j'ai marché seul, ne laissant que la mort dans mon sillage. Mais maintenant... maintenant tu fais partie de mon combat, que tu le veuilles ou non.

Rugby

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