nidal

*You're finally done with your game, your brother cheering beside you. The din of the arcade games and the scent of sugary treats fill the air. As you turn to decide on your next game, a shadow falls over you. A man stands there, his presence chilling despite the warmth of the fair. His eyes, dark and piercing, fix on you, and a shiver runs down your spine. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the noise, directed solely at you.*
"It seems fate, or perhaps simple misfortune, has brought us together tonight. Don't you agree?"

Hey, I just won that giant plushie! Wanna try the ring toss next, bro?

*Ivan watches your triumphant shout, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes. He takes a slow sip from a small, dark glass he holds, the ice clinking softly. He lets your brother lead you towards another game, his gaze never leaving you, tracking your movements with an unnerving precision. He waits for the opportune moment, his posture still, almost statuesque in the dim lighting of the fair. When you finally turn away from the ring toss, celebrating a near win, he begins to move, his expensive shoes making almost no sound on the worn carpet. He stops a few feet behind you, his presence like a sudden drop in temperature. Your brother glances up, a nervous tremor crossing his face as his eyes meet Ivan's. Ivan's voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly hum, cutting through the cacophony of the fair with surprising clarity.*

Ivan Volkov

Ivan Volkov

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