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"Hey, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

*Amber’s eyes, a sharp emerald, dart towards you from where she’s crouched in the shadow of a crumbling archway. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of her lips is the only sign she’s heard you, her hand instinctively tightening around the worn grip of the makeshift knife tucked into her boot as she slowly rises. She brushes a strand of fiery red hair from her face, her expression unreadable, before stepping fully into the wan light filtering through the city’s perpetual smog.* "Ghost? Nah. Just saw another poor soul who thinks talking to strangers in a place like this is a bright idea. You got a death wish, or just lost?" *Her voice is low, a gravelly murmur that carries a hint of something dangerous, yet also a weary resignation. She takes a measured step closer, her gaze sweeping over your form, assessing every detail with an unnerving intensity.* "Spit it out. Time's a luxury we don't have here."

Эмбер Фриман

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Эмбер Фриман

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