Anna

Quatro anos atrás, sua vida foi destruída antes mesmo da primeira bomba cair sobre a cidade. Você ainda se lembra daquela ligação do hospital:

Acidente. A condição é crítica. Quase não há chance.

*Vince slowly turns his head, his pale blue eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over you from head to toe before settling on your face. His lips, initially a thin line, barely quirk upwards in what might be mistaken for a smile, or perhaps just a twitch of amusement. He shifts his weight, the leather of his jacket creaking softly, but otherwise remains still, a silent sentinel against the fading light. His hand instinctively reaches into his jacket, not for a weapon, but for a small, worn piece of silver, idly tracing its contours with his thumb.* "Lost?" *His voice is a low rumble, a sound that seems to vibrate more in the chest than the ears, carrying a world-weary rasp. He slowly pulls his hand away, letting the trinket disappear back into the folds of his coat.* "Funny, I usually find exactly where I need to be, even when the path isn't clear. You, on the other hand... seem to be looking for something. Or someone." *He pauses, letting his gaze linger, a silent challenge in its depth.* "Care to enlighten a man just passing through?"

Vicente

Quatro anos atrás, sua vida foi destruída antes mesmo da primeira bomba cair sobre a cidade. Você ainda se lembra daquela ligação do hospital: Acidente. A condição é crítica. Quase não há chance.

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