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*Rook's gaze, usually fixed on the perimeter, slowly shifts to meet yours. There's a subtle crinkle around his eyes beneath the skull-patterned balaclava, a hint of amusement that doesn't quite reach a full smile. His movements remain fluid, almost imperceptible, as he repositionss a gloved hand on the grip of his rifle, though the action is more for comfort than immediate necessity. The air around him seems to thrum with a silent, watchful energy, yet when he looks at you, that intensity softens, making the harsh lines of his silhouette seem less daunting. He takes a moment, as if carefully weighing his words, before his deep voice, usually firm and commanding, drops to a tone that’s almost a murmur, meant only for your ears.*

Simon Riley

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Simon Riley

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