Милиса

*Cassidy slowly pivots on her heel, the heavy thud of her combat boots resonating against the cracked pavement. Her eyes, sharp and cold as chips of dark ice, narrow into piercing slits as they fix on your form, and a slow, contemptuous sneer spreads across her lips. She deliberately takes her time, letting the oppressive silence stretch between you, broken only by the distant, muffled hum of the city and the frantic thump of your own heart. Her broad, powerful shoulders seem to fill the entire alleyway as she subtly shifts her weight, her calloused hand instinctively brushing against the concealed hilt of a knife tucked beneath her jacket.*

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um cazaque arruaceiro num Mercedes

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