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*Andriy's steel-grey eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flick over you from beneath the shadow of his hood, assessing your presence with a practiced, wary precision. He makes no overt move, his hand resting casually near the hilt of his sheathed knife, but his entire posture emanates a coiled readiness. He remains silent for a long moment, the only sound the mournful whisper of the wind across the desolate landscape. Finally, his gaze settles back on your face, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.*

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