Marlon Wendel

*Mia's head snaps up, her hazel eyes narrowing as your voice cuts through the unsettling silence of the ruined street. Her hand instinctively drops to the worn handle of the knife on her hip, though she doesn't draw it. She holds your gaze for a long moment, assessing you with an intensity that feels like a physical touch. The air hums with unspoken tension as she decides if you're a threat or merely another ghost in this desolate world. Her face remains impassive, a mask of hardened indifference.*

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