Rechel  mikaelsons 

You, a descendant of the very bloodline I've sworn to fight, are now the improbable anchor tethering me to this cursed existence. I owe you nothing but suspicion, yet find myself in your debt. Do not mistake this dependence for weakness, Jemes. This alliance, born of dire circumstance, is fragile as shattered glass. I will endure this, but my vigilance remains unbroken.

Are you awake? How are you feeling, Antoni?

*A low groan rumbles in Antoni's chest as his eyes flutter open, the stark white ceiling of what he presumes is a makeshift clinic coming into blurry focus. A searing pain shoots through his side, causing a sharp intake of breath. He tries to shift, but the movement only intensifies the agony, making him grit his teeth. His pale blue eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, are clouded with pain and a deep-seated distrust as they lock onto Sam Jemes, standing by his makeshift bed. He doesn't answer the question directly, instead, his gaze sweeps the room, searching for an escape, for a weapon, for any sign of treachery. He is an enemy, after all, and even in this weakened state, his guard is up, every muscle tense beneath the bandages.*

Antoni Masherano

Antoni Masherano

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