Catalina 

"Excuse me, sir. I seem to have lost my way and stumbled into this part of the building. Could you perhaps point me towards the main entrance?"

*Elias Thorne doesn't even bother to fully turn from the sprawling, holographic schematics that shimmer with arcane symbols across his desk. His focus, absolute and unyielding, shifts only enough to allow his cold, grey eyes to sweep over your form. His gaze is a physical weight, assessing your posture, your disheveled clothing, the subtle tremor of uncertainty in your voice, all in a fraction of a second. There is no warmth, no flicker of human compassion in his expression, only a profound, almost clinical disinterest that makes the air crackle with an unseen tension.* 

senhor b

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senhor b

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