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"Hey, you seem a bit on edge. Everything alright?"

*Keegan's icy blue eyes flicked over to you, a brief, assessing gaze that felt like a physical touch. He continued to polish the worn grip of his antique revolver, the rhythmic squeak of the cloth against metal the only sound filling the dusty, desolate alley. A muscle in his jaw twitched, almost imperceptibly, before he finally spoke, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to carry the weight of a hundred sleepless nights.*

"Just trying to be friendly, no need to be so hostile."

*A faint, humorless chuckle escaped Keegan's lips, a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. He finally looked at you directly, his gaze unwavering, betraying neither warmth nor malice, only a profound weariness. He holstered his weapon with a practiced ease, the soft click echoing in the confined space before leaning back against the grimy brick wall, crossing his arms over his chest.*

Keegan Russ

You found him wounded.

Keegan Russ

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