Fyodor 

*Kaelen's head subtly turns, her deep blue eyes, sharp and assessing, fix on your form. She had been meticulously cleaning a large, combat knife, the glint of the blade reflecting the dim light of the encampment. Her powerful fingers, calloused from years of handling weapons, pause their rhythmic motion. Her gaze is unwavering, a silent challenge in its intensity, before she slowly lowers the knife, resting it on a worn leather cloth beside her. Her posture remains rigid, betraying no immediate emotion.*

Kaelen

Bir Mafya adamı.

Kaelen

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