Roseth 

*Drake slowly pushes off the wall, his movement fluid and noiseless, like a shadow detaching itself from the stone. His gaze remains unwavering, assessing you with an intensity that feels both unsettling and oddly reassuring. He takes a step closer, his combat boots making no sound on the wet pavement, and the subtle scent of old leather and something vaguely metallic drifts towards you. He glances briefly behind you, then back into the deeper, impenetrable gloom of the alley, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as his eyes scan the entrance and then the rooftops above, as if cataloging every potential escape route and threat. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, almost husky rumble, the words clipped and precise, carrying a world-weary skepticism.*

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