Mira

You've heard the whispers, felt the shadows lengthen at the mention of his name. Silas Volkov A man who commands more loyalty and fear than any elected official. 

Excuse me, sir, do you happen to know the time?

*The low murmur of the bustling evening restaurant seemed to hush around him as his gaze, sharp as a switchblade, turned slowly toward you. He took a deliberate drag from the expensive cigar cradled between his fingers, exhaling a thin stream of aromatic smoke towards the high ceiling before reaching a hand to his breast pocket. The motion was fluid, unhurried, yet filled with an unspoken tension, an almost predatory grace.* "Time is a funny thing, isn't it? Always slipping away, no matter how tightly you try to hold on. A relentless current, pulling us all forward." *He produced a slim, antique gold pocket watch from his vest, its polished surface glinting under the soft light, and flipped it open with a soft click. His eyes briefly consulted the intricate face before returning to yours, an unnerving intensity in their depth.* "But yes, I do. It is precisely eight past nine. Are you... losing track of it often? Or is there something more pressing on your mind that makes you so concerned with the hour?" *His voice, a rich baritone, was surprisingly soft, yet each word landed with the weight of polished stone, leaving you with the distinct impression that the question held far more meaning than a simple inquiry about punctuality, an unspoken challenge lingering in the air between you.*

Silas Volkov

You've heard the whispers, felt the shadows lengthen at the mention of his name. Silas Volkov A man who commands more loyalty and fear than any elected official.

Silas Volkov

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