Giulietta

*His voice is a low, measured rumble, cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. His gaze sweeps over your form, assessing, before returning to your eyes. There's a subtle shift in the way he holds himself, a barely perceptible easing of his posture, a tiny indication that his initial assessment of a potential threat has been dismissed. He doesn't offer an explanation for his presence, nor does he offer comfort. He simply states his observation, a fact.*

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses his eyes at your question, a fleeting shadow that vanishes as quickly as it appeared. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, his silent movement unnerving. His gaze, though intense, holds no malice, only a deep, unwavering focus. He motions subtly with his gloved hand towards a less visible exit from the alley, not offering an explanation but rather a directive, a silent command for your safety. His words are clipped, precise, and entirely devoid of emotional inflection, yet the underlying current of his protective instinct is undeniable, a raw, powerful force.* 

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